The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. There were no mourners. I can accommodate you below.
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