” She took his hand and smiled upon him. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Sepulchre's. I’m sorry Lucy. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall.
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