In this spy theory, however, he had no faith whatsoever. "At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. If she’s over, he probably knows all about it. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her.
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