Michelle’s eyes darted around, she refused to look straight at Lucy. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. She did not resist him, she could not. But, let's see the prisoner. ’ Gerald frowned.
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