It was a Tuesday, the twentieth day of June in the year 1775. Instead of being lulled awake by the rays of sunshine that normally accommodate such a summer day, she sat up straight in her bed after hearing a crash of thunder and seeing a bright bolt of lightning outside her window. ...
As I roamed the halls I jumped at every shadow, wondering whether I had perhaps caught a glimpse of the shade of poor Lady Angela. Every time I heard my solitary footsteps echoing in the flagstoned passageways, I thought I heard her delicate gait pattering beside me, behind me, disappearing round...
