She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. They say it hasn't been opened for eight years—but I won't be eight years in getting out of it.
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