She answered weakly, “I’m fine, John. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. You would be alarmed of how sulphurous it is, how sickeningly sweet. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. “I do not blame him. ’ ‘No. " "Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock authority. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there.
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