A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. 230 Rhea sprang, teeth flashing. Traversing what remained of Wych Street at a rapid pace, and speeding along Drury Lane, the trio soon found themselves in Kendrick Yard. Very well, I give up. She spotted her opportunity. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit.
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