Blueskin, you are a true friend. Mr Jarvis’s sister, that was. ‘Grace à dieu, he breathes still. At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. A lucky escape.
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