" "Write him," urged Spurlock, finding speech. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. She was naturally weaker, she would tire quicker, and she need not concern herself with the peculiar obligations of honour obtaining amongst gentlemen. Traversing what remained of Wych Street at a rapid pace, and speeding along Drury Lane, the trio soon found themselves in Kendrick Yard. ’ Her lashes fluttered.
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