His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. Part of her felt like laughing insanely at how badly she had been duped. ‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. I can't run in these heavy fetters. “Nigel is like all men,” Lady Lescelles continued.
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