The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard. Leave me behind: I'm not afraid. Henceforth, I utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon me. ‘Think it’s worth getting some sort of light and following her down there?’ asked Roding.
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