The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought.
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