Aware that he should incur the thief-taker's bitterest animosity by what he had done, the watchman, whose wrath against Quilt Arnold had evaporated during the walk, thought it more prudent not to hazard a meeting with his master, till the storm had, in some measure, blown over. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall.
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