He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. Let me see now. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came.
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