//CLARA//
The streets were a blur of grey slush and indifferent faces.
Every shadow between the buildings seemed to breathe. Every carriage that rolled past made my heart seize. I kept checking over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Casimir's tall silhouette cutting through the fog, or worse, the heavy-set men with the thick boots who had pounded on Gary's door.
Do not be followed, Mr. Cromwell's letter had said.
I wasn't sure I'd succeeded.
Mr. Cromwell was already standing when I arrived, his face ashen, his hands pressed flat against his desk as if he needed the wood to keep himself upright. The gas lamp hissed low, casting shadows across the cluttered room. The usual stacks of paper looked like they'd been shuffled and reshuffled a dozen times.
"Miss Thorne." His voice was thin, reedy. "Close the door, please. Lock it."
I did.
"Sit down. Please."
I didn't argue. My knees were shaking anyway. I sank into the chair across from him.
