In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. Folks don’t like ’em.
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