Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. Love is one thing and friendship quite another. As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder.
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