Sheppard, horror-stricken. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. These were the Master's body-guard. " There was a brief, breathless pause. ‘I am not in the least in a rage.
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