"You've won your wager. Shotbolt?" rejoined the executioner. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. “She has one, that’s why. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him.
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