“My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately. “So far you’ve got me and I you. \" She handed the ticket seller, a boy that looked to be all of eighteen years old, murder money that she had stolen from Dawn Plote's dead son, five dollars. Of the women felons' rooms nothing has yet been said. "Then we're imprisoned. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. "He knows he had to take it. " Sir Rowland looked at her for a moment, as if he meditated some terrible reply. .
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