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. Oriental rugs adorned the sea of shiny hardwood floors, kept polished with an eye for detail that bordered on Japanese. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. Wood, furiously. ‘Think it’s worth getting some sort of light and following her down there?’ asked Roding. The response of her body was enough that she lazily opened her eyes.
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