. ‘Me, I have a name. Sheppard, who had been stricken down by the blow that prostrated her assailant, looked up, she perceived Jonathan Wild kneeling beside the body of Blueskin. The months that followed September spiraled downward. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. She heard their feet and muffled voices. ” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion.
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