Remember what the conjuror said. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. Me, I prefer to forget that I have such a father.
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