A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. The prisoner was then thrust in by Quilt. Laugh on the wrong side of your mouth, now. Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. This is a noted place for highwaymen. Give me but leave to try.
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