It must be somewhere hereabouts. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes. So she built a shrine. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. She heard the sounds of Rhea scuttling about, and then feeding, brutally. Only now it does not matter at all because Joan has come and has seen me.
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