“So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. ‘It is what my father intended. The evenings were dulcet and soft. What a pig she was. But I never seen Mr Charvill, and when the Frenchie come out, I followed him again, like you told me. . But he was wide awake. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork.
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