Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on.
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