"The night before last, Mr. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. He had hurt her. That’s why he was so annoyed, you know. The ward in which he was confined, was about six yards in length, and three in width, and in height, might be about twelve feet. Too close, he reasoned, for safety. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. Abruptly, Gerald turned.
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