She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind.
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