. ’ He stopped suddenly, dismay creeping into his face. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. I wonder whether you would mind, Lady Ferringhall,” he went on, with a sudden glance at her, “if I tell you that you yourself remind me a great deal more of what she was like then, except of course that your complexion and colouring are altogether different. He turned round to keep Anna out by force if possible, but he was too late.
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