An Unkeyed Dungeon with a Secret

Imagine if-in the last days of your life were spent digging a tunnel.  Down there each bone pile is a mile marker of sorts, telling us how far a man got in his earth-toilin’ before he keeled over from want of food.  A drunkardly group-full of thieves, murderers, and scoundrels died in that dirt hallway thinkin’ they’d be free on the next spoon stroke.  They’re probably spittin’ in their graves, knowin’ all they did was set the next man through closer to freedom.  Leave somethin’ down there, a gift of thanks to those hopelessly dead, lest you be cursed by their cryin’ mothers.

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