Shoddy workmanship afforded Cliff the time to investigate what he thought might have been a piece of paper sticking out of Lloyd's shoe. A spy in the Reclu? Never heard of in these times; just too damn cold on the upper floor.
I didn't want to go outside. If I got caught peeking at the heel of Lloyd's heed I could be bundled up in a sleeping bag; tied permanently tied inside and thrown out to the starving huskies waiting for work in the round above our heads.
The Recluxion reduced us to nomanland hallowed with open servitude to masters with quill.
Peripheral vision sharpened in forethought saw clear the field and twisted open the heel of his boot but instead of finding the #3 letter from swollen and bleeding soft fingers, he found a diamond ring fit into a mould inside Lloyd's heel.
Where did she go? Oh my love; I grieve for you so.