I'd do anything for Thames Darrell. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. It's precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell's throat, as to order Jack Sheppard's execution. A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY.
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