‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. This door, which was open, Jonathan locked and took out the key. She did not speak to John in the week of school left after the Prom. 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.
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