” She shook her head gently. ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. 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 this way,” he said. On this elevation a table was now placed, around which sat the turnkeys and their guests, regaling themselves on the fragrant beverage provided by the prisoner.
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