As Spurlock called her name, she paused and turned. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. ‘Gabbling and muttering in a foreign tongue, that’s what I heard, sir,’ had declared the gap-toothed ancient, when he told them of the initial foray he had made, sneaking around the house in the dark. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well.
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