Everywhere was a jumbleof buildings, statues, lines of washing and flowerpots. It has been part of my task to bear his story. The white mist had erased all detail and colour from the landscape and leftit ghostly. So they packed up Strange'sbooks and the silver bowl and gathered their other possessions and set offalong the hot, dusty roads.
Once upon a time, to look uponLondon was to look upon a forest of towers and pinnacles and spires. Raising it above his head, he saw that the room was in the last extremes ofchaos and disorder. Each haddevised his own bed from whatever materials had taken his fancy. In no time at all he was writing letters back to England full ofpraise for the manners, cleverness and kindness of the Greysteels.
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