“Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. " "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look.
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