"But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. “You are very stupid, Anna,” she said. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. However this may be now, it was unquestionably true of old Newgate. Spurlock stared at Ruth across the rim of his bowl.
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