’ *** The tapping for which Melusine had been waiting came at last. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. I’ve seen him, and he doesn’t a bit understand.
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