"Unhappy men, what is it that ails you? There is a shroud of darkness drawn over you from head to foot, your cheeks are wet with tears; the air is alive with wailing voices; the walls and roof-beams drip blood; the gate of the cloisters and the court beyond them are full of ghosts trooping down into the night of Snell; the sun is blotted out of heaven, and a blighting gloom is over all the land."
Hudson and Snell at seven-thirty.
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