"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. But, holy smoke!—the Yale spirit in…. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. Were any thing to happen to him, Newgate wouldn't be what it is, nor Tyburn either.
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