Manning called. He flipped the television off. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the odour of drugs. “Dear husband,” she murmured. Trees were torn up by the roots; many houses were levelled to the ground; others were unroofed; the leads on the churches were ripped off, and "shrivelled up like scrolls of parchment. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. Wasting no time, he crossed straight to the shutters and opened them.
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