Marlowe keeps his hand tight around Mary Anne's, so tight that the wedding ring on his finger digs in, but it's that kind of crowd. Let go, and let go forever.
He leads her over to a wall, the wall of an inn and helps her up onto the barrels before joining her. One hand holding into the sign to the left of him for balance, the other hook around her waist and keeping her close.
"'Right?" He asks her, voice loud in her ear but it's the only way to hear over the press of people and the church bells.