CHARLES HALLOWAY: By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. 

MR. DARK: Then rang the bells both loud and deep. God is not dead nor doth he sleep. 

CHARLES HALLOWAY: The wrong will fail, the right prevail, with peace on Earth, goodwill to men. 

MR. DARK: It's a thousand years to Christmas, Mr. Holloway. 

CHARLES HALLOWAY: You're wrong. It's here, in this library tonight, and can't be spoiled. 

MR. DARK: Did Will and Jim bring it with them on the soles of their shoes? Then, we shall have to scrape them. 

CHARLES HALLOWAY: I know who you are. You are the autumn people. Where do you come from? The dust. Where do you go to? The grave. 

MR. DARK:  Yes. We are the hungry ones. Your torments call us like dogs in the night. And we do feed, and feed well. 

CHARLES HALLOWAY:  To stuff yourselves on other people's nightmares. 

MR. DARK: And butter our plain bread with delicious pain. So, you do understand a little. 

CHARLES HALLOWAY:  You are known in this town. My father knew you. 

MR. DARK: Your father? The preacher? That half-man? 

CHARLES HALLOWAY: He lived on goodness. 

MR. DARK: Tasteless fare. Funerals, bad marriages, lost loves, lonely beds. That is our diet. We suck that misery and find it sweet. We search for more always. We can smell young boys ulcerating to be men a thousand miles off. And hear a middle-aged fool like yourself groaning with midnight despairs from halfway around the world. 
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