"Here," repeated her brother. With a moment of inward shame he remembered his deportment towards Anna. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. 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. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. See you in Science Class. And in this fact lay his danger.
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