Your career at the bar had given you a command of language, also a self-control not vouchsafed to us ordinary mortals. Kneebone and Mr. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked. I want to make my own selection.
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