The looming face was 71 over her own once again, and arms as strong as iron bars held her down. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. Jack Sheppard's Escape from the New Prison.
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