“You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it. I hope we may never find her again. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. Strange gurgle-like noises emanated from the crypt.
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