It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. 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. " "Come, come, Captain," remonstrated Blueskin. It is useless to talk. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him.
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