"What's this here kinchen in for?" asked Terence, as he and Quilt strode along, with Thames between them. London Bridge had suffered a degree less than most places. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. ‘What are you after this time, miss?’ asked Jack.
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