The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. "It is too late. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience. 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. We’re going in. Maggot. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone.
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