Quilt was not long in following his example. 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. “Time for my Patience,” she said. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began.
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