Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. The white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this, Jonathan continued his murderous assault. “I suppose my levity is incorrigible. "I have him!" cried a voice in triumph. "I'll place it to your account, Sir Rowland," answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. 9.
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