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“Evil is not merely a falling short, a failure to observe some code or other. It is an active force in the world, a darkness at least as powerful as that of light.”
I’ve lost count of the number of times some old biddy has put the evil eye on me for turning her family out of their hovel. But what of it?
That's a little fucked up, but okay.
It is, in fact, the centerpiece of a little temple I have had built, dedicated to the gods of pleasure and debauchery.”
“Your classical mythology is full to the brim with amusing filth.”
As he did so, he thought he saw a small, spindly shadow appear in an alcove where there was no one to cast it. But once his eyes were clear nothing was visible.
Oop
“The altar of evil! Imagine what monstrous deeds those wicked monks performed in this hidden chamber, eh? Let us hope we can live down to their standards, Kilmain.”
I can't with this man 💀
Suddenly it wriggled and for a horrible moment, Donald thought that it was a baby. “What is this?” he demanded. “Surely that cannot be—” Then the bundle emitted a squeal, and he laughed in relief. “A piglet!” he exclaimed.
Why it got be a piglet i love baby pigs.
“At the very least we’ll dine on fresh pork tomorrow. You can’t conduct human sacrifices in England nowadays, lad. Too many busybodies around, too much officialdom.”
He did not just say that 💀
How typical of the idle rich, he thought. To take the life of a defenseless beast for fun. I despise these people.
Then he glimpsed a dark form appear for a split second around the side of the altar, on the same side where Blaisdell stood.
Oh shit
“Ghost of the piglet, perhaps,” suggested Kilmain.
💀
“Portends the death of a person of note,” Kilmain replied. “The peasants love stories in which the banshee heralds the demise of a cruel landlord. But that is in Ireland, of course. No reason for it to manifest itself here in England.”
Not exactly a lie, Matt thought. But not strictly true, either. You can’t kid a kidder. What are you hiding, Ted?
An old scar, and a bad one, Matt thought. Another little mystery. But here I am in one of the most expensive restaurants in London being offered a ton of cash. Am I going to argue?
“How old are your boys?” “Well,” Brie replied, “one’s just turned six, and the other’s forty-three—my husband’s the immature one.”
“Interesting that you would be happier if your people were terrified on camera,” commented Gould. “But we’re not here to scare anyone. We’re here to conduct an investigation.
beam. Denny began to climb down. Maybe it was an Interloper, trying to lure me in, she thought. But why go to so much trouble? Why not just jump me as soon as I arrived?
She smiled wryly at the way children so quickly seized on new gadgets, and how quickly adults forget that they had been just as obsessed with novelty.
