She removed it. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. . It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. ToC Tyburn was now at hand.
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