"Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored. His face was downcast. “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, trying to think where they were, trying to get things plain again that had seemed plain enough in the quiet of the night. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. But the twins were so fucked over at that point they were zombies. She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-life and the changing mysteries of the sea.
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