" Thames was about to follow, when he felt a gentle grasp upon his arm. Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. Meysey Hill—never your wife. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside.
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