The blood will rest on your head. 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. She is a stranger to you. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. Montressor’s guests were. Take it, if I die. Tell Bess to slip out, and I'll put on her cloak and hood.
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