’ At that, a flush drenched her cheeks and she snatched her hand away. That would be an unkind twist of fate. “Glaciers?” she said. Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard. “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell.
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