’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Even now, my problems begin to catch up with me; they will discover me soon. ” “I don’t care if it does,” said Ann Veronica.
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