Scratching his scalp, Professor Farnum Pillsworth peered at the engraving above the sarcophagus. "Perhaps 'Lord of Darkness' is incorrect. Maybe 'irritations' or 'nuisances.' The diction is difficult." The dandruff lay an inch deep on his shoulders.
Lord Fletcher Clappington swiped at the halo of mosquitoes swirling about his head. "Mere superstition, old bean. What a find. To London! To fame! To fortune!"
"And our means of, ah, transportation?"
"The same way we came in, of course."
"It could be a long trip." Pillsworth eyed their mule as it mournfully lifted its tail. The stench of rotten eggs flooded the crypt.
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