’ She grasped the girl’s arm. Listen, it is I. " CHAPTER XVIII. \"God, it's too curly for a brush. But I tell you in return, I shall take no pains to hide myself. ” She eyed him scornfully. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. ” Lucy looked at the small shelf which was jammed with thick paperbacks by every major horror novelist of the twentieth century.
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