Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. “I feared we might have a fog. I presume that I may not kiss you in the street?” “Certainly not, sir,” she replied, laughing. The tiles lay a foot thick in the road. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. He laughed suddenly, and released her. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. There is a small yewtree west of the church.
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