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It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. —Strype's Stow. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. But I liked the things you said here. Here, might be seen a poor fellow whose teeth were knocked down his throat, spluttering out the most tremendous menaces, and gesticulating like a madman: there, another, whose nose was partially slit, vented imprecations and lamentations in the same breath. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. Wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes.

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