Sentence The Threehundredandeightyfifth

And as she hurried home, reflecting on the strangely toponymic name of the artist who had possibly fathered Sir Pantagruel's ancestor, too many unwonted wisenheimers in this case, and Jasmine suddenly looked up, stopped and stared, as the skywalker tumbled from the top of the crane and she

could have sworn that there was another movement up there, but too far for her to be sure, but she was sure about the man's cry as he plummeted to the ground; grabbing her phone from her bag she ran as she dialled and called for an ambulance, even knowing that it would be no use, too late, and she rounded the corner and stood stock still – for though she saw a bloody stain on the tarmac, directly below the crane, there was no body there!