Wrecked by my enemy
thud* of a pair of heavy, leather-soled shoes walking toward the cellar hatch.
And then, from the small plastic diagnostic clip behind the electrical panel, the landline bell began to ring again—not with the slow, muffled rasp of the deep-sea cable from Edinburgh, but with a high, clear, terrifyingly loud chime that matched the step of the boots on the floorboards above their heads, note for note, until the whole room began to vibrate with the sound.
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