She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald. . . ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. 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.
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