They took their places at a distant table. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days. “I’ve had most of the things I wanted,” said Ramage, in the stillness of the night.
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