An ordinary type, of course—” Mrs. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. "When you're older, you'll know that secrets of importance are not disclosed gratuitously. "And so I want the boy out of the way," he concluded.
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