“He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. Even this man had accepted her for “Alcide” without a moment’s question. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. The pavement had been hastily picked up, and heaped across the end of the street, upon which planks, barrels, and other barricades, were laid. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. She looked at her flattened belly.
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