“Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. The lights rolled over, and were extinguished. She may have any number of wasting diseases, but they cannot survive in our bodies. 235 “No, I think she’s out sick with a throat infection. ” She shook her fist ceilingward. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. Such was the effect produced upon the passengers by his good looks and manly deportment, that few—especially of the gentler and more susceptible sex—failed to turn round and bestow a second glance upon the handsome stranger. She screamed as she saw that their throats had been ripped out and their dead eyes bulged with horror as their heads lolled from mere strings of sinew and flesh. .
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