Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. ‘Except Captain Roding,’ agreed the old lady, nodding at the butler. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. Independently of other risks, and of the chance of breaking his neck in the descent, he was aware that to reach the leads he should have to break open six of the strongest doors of the prison.
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