She slipped it calmly into her pocket. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. ’ ‘Oh, this is becoming nonsensical,’ exclaimed Lucilla. “It’s something that bothers me. She isn't used to cities. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy.
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