The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. His face was very serious. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. It’s my choice, Lucy. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety.
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