She had been obliged to wait all morning for the opportunity to talk to Martha, who chose always to retire to her cell for the period of recreation that preceded afternoon prayers. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. ’ ‘Ah, non?’ Her voice was neutral. “I knew you would begin to see how it all falls into place together. "Follow me, Thames," cried Jack, dropping into the chasm.
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