"Stop thief!" roared Jonathan, who perceived the fugitive hurrying along a street towards Hatton Garden. She's not mischievous—and besides she's chained, and can't reach you. You do not know him. There you are, the best client’s chair. . ’ A sudden frown sprang to the fellow’s face. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. It had ceased now, but as he closed in on the area, a faint muttering came to his ears.
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