Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in. “Soon enough, John. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in.
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