“No, he grabbed my hand. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. There was no one else in the doorway. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. She turned there and beckoned. ‘Which presupposes that she needs to hide at all.
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