She entered the last room, his bedroom. 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. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. Sheila was often a terror to her husband Mark, who seemed afraid of her. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?” He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly.
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