. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. You told me he was going back to Newgate after supper, so I mayn't have another opportunity. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering.
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