She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. I'd have got something nice. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused.
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