FOOTNOTES: [A] At the hospital of Saint Giles for Lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the City of London towards Tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a Bowl of Ale, thereof to drink, as their last refreshing in this life. But as the mystery which surrounded Ruth fell away that which enveloped her father thickened. That’s who you ought to go and see, miss. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. Lost, stolen, or strayed, the Young Person!. We'll have him yet.
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