32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her.
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