" "Six weeks!" exclaimed Thames, in a melancholy tone. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. Sheppard, distractedly. Lucy could sense her mental resolution to nip Michelle’s burgeoning obsession with the occult in the bud. “I cannot conceive,” he said, “how any other occupation could ever have occurred to you. If he did resemble me, I shouldn't care about him. Tol-de-rol!" As Jack concluded his ditty, the door flew open with a crash, and Thames sprang through the aperture.
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