She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. I am not going to be a chorus girl, or even a super. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. "No Mohocks! No Scourers!" cried the mob. Its walled heaved with black mildew and sea-salt.
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