It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. You don’t know about Mary because you live in Kent. “It is no good playing a game. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him.
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