"I was afraid it would be so. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. "Fear nothing, Sir," said the man, in a voice which Thames instantly recognised as that of Blueskin.
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