It was Annabel’s. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. A moment afterwards, the street was illumined by a blaze of torchlight, and a tumultuous uproar, mixed with the clashing of weapons, and the braying of horns, announced the arrival of the first detachment of Minters. You cannot refuse me this.
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