He held in his hands many threads. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. Her shoulders began to ache. Too many. “Unless you have an appointment, which you haven’t,” he said, “you’ll only waste your time here. I heard rumours of it in Paris, and the place since then has been closed. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all.
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