In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. I thought he was in Newgate. Afterward he stole out of the room with the bloodstained sheet to boast her virginity to his brothers and father, which only truly mattered because she was beautiful, her mother had said. ‘But you cannot expect that we will any of us remain altogether quiet,’ objected Melusine. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. Let me walk you to the door.
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