. . A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. ‘Léonore, then?’ She shook her head animatedly, enjoying his attention. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze.
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