Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. Gianfrancesco’s had curved differently and was darker. She was suddenly grave. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered.
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