" "Hold your tongue, hussy!" cried her husband gruffly. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road.
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