8. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. ‘Where is Gérard?’ ‘Out of town,’ Hilary said briefly. We know London, and you are a stranger here. . Shari entered the room in a damp towel, fresh from the shower. I ate only enough to keep body and soul together. They clapped wildly afterward. Look at the poor victim at your feet. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud.
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