He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short. She hurried with Jack as fast as she could to the open door to the passage. 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. It clicked and the bookshelf was once more intact. He drew compellingly upon his new characters to keep him out of this melancholy channel; but they ebbed and ebbed; he could not hold them.
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