“That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. "Oh! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly reseating himself. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded.
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