She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations. Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the ambrosian fluid. ” “Hampstead didn’t suit Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison remarked. . Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Spurling's sooty imp, Caliban.
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