Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. Of course, at home there would have been questions. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist.
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