These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. “I didn’t think you’d come. She will not confide in me. My appearance is genuinely altered for the better. Alban's to-night. Acquainted with every part of the jail, Jack well knew that his only chance of effecting an escape must be by the roof. She looked about, watching a massive green storm cloud building in the west. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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