I am a murderer. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. His initial nervousness had already abated, and it took some valour to allow himself to become embroiled in Melusine’s crazy schemes.
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