She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. “You promised faithfully to be there,” he said slowly. Sebastian, too, seemed to be immune, even though cats, dogs, and beasts of the suffered just as the humans did: blackening and dying, their eyes rolling, their bodies covered with bald buboes. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. Her heart thudded.
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