Mr. Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. It was precisely two o'clock on the morning of Whit-monday, the 25th of May 1724, when the remarkable escape before detailed was completed: and, though it wanted full two hours to daybreak, the glimmer of a waning moon prevented it from being totally dark. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. “I am too much in earnest,” he answered, “to be able to take this matter lightly. His deduction was correct that the beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on a forgotten isle.
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