It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. They turned the last corner, and almost immediately a man who had been standing there turned and struck Ennison a violent blow on the cheek. "Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. " "May I trust you?" hesitated Thames. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. The theme was a masquerade.
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