His breakfast despatched, which he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to Newgate, chuckling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would create amongst the turnkeys. His name was Peter. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. ‘Um—begging your pardon, sir, but—um—what was you meaning to arrest the young lady for?’ ‘Trespassing, theft, and suspicion of spying,’ announced Roding fluently. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied.
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