He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. The thought had not even occurred to him. ‘How fascinating. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt.
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