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 had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. But it is my fault. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy.
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