Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. "Oh! we've lost no time, as you perceive," replied Jack. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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