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“Thank God,” he exclaimed. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. For a moment he did not recognize Annabel. I feel like a fraudulent trustee. The atmosphere was 46 strained and deathly quiet at the dining room table. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost.
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