These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. They were looking for a guide. Mrs. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. He drew both his pistols, and prepared for a desperate encounter. You have all the earmarks of a fugitive from justice. Do you understand?’ ‘Aye, sir.
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