THE OLD BELFRY, when flesh refuses to rest…

monk ghost

“Although the night was mild, the place exuding a musty, earthly smell, seemed as cold as death. Grieves uttered a fatuous laugh, muttered something to himself and was about to return to his companions when a sudden draught of ice-cold air extinguished his candle. He took a step forward, his toe caught in something, and he stumbled and fell. After several vain attempts to rise and much incoherent expostulation, in snuggled in close to the cold, dusty stone wall and fell asleep. Then he dreamed…”

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