” She looked up at him quickly. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Strange gurgle-like noises emanated from the crypt. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. “To Hell if we don’t change our ways.
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