Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir. That's how I finally got wind of it. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. But Blueskin was not to be silenced.
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