She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. ‘Why does this person say you are mad?’ ‘Because I am risking having my head blown off,’ Gerald answered cheerfully. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals.
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