Thames, look the door. She wrenched her head away from his grip and got her arm between his chest and hers. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. Not if I read her aright. I speak no harm of her. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac.
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