You understand. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. “I have signed a statement that I shot myself; bad trade and drink, both true—both true. With a small saw, conveyed to me a few days since by Thames Darrell, which I contrived to conceal upon my person, I removed a spike in the hatch, and, with the aid of some other friends, worked my way out. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes.
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