Lucy could sense her mental resolution to nip Michelle’s burgeoning obsession with the occult in the bud. She realized that with a pang of disgust and horror. Better check on Remenham House, I suppose. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper.
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