Lucy clasped her hands over her ears as it screamed. “It may be more difficult than you think,” she said. She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him. “How has the world taken it?” he asked. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it.
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