’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. Perhaps an hour later he would begin again. Come close to me, and let me hold your hand, dear. Get it off your soul. It was a large room, about twenty feet long and fifteen broad, and had an arched stone roof. Run away now, please. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. CHAPTER XXX.
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