Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. “He dissembles,” he said. "Here's a cross-bite. He recognized the face instantly. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. But he promised to give me a couple of guineas if I'd ascertain whether it fitted your locks.
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