The sharp point of the sword at the girl’s throat bit sideways. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. ‘It’s my belief she is a nun. “Sheila and Mark McCloskey?” Michelle asked. “She is living there now,” she remarked. "At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. And I am grateful to you.
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