He was still thickly clad in jeans. Always. His breakfast despatched, which he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to Newgate, chuckling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would create amongst the turnkeys. Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief in the neighborhood, no one wanted to see how those kids would grow up. He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. “What can you do?” she asked. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast.
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