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Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. "Coming!—so is midnight—so is Jonathan Wild," retorted Jack, with a significant look at Thames. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. I’m making a mess of my life— unless you come in and take it.
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