You have said a thousand times that there was no shame in you. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face.
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