’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. There's another lad at the gate waiting for him—the same who was here just now, that Sir Rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewelcase for her ladyship. Let us be gone. That's the job. 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. Is Jack what Mrs.
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