"Think yourself lucky." Jasfoup bit into a scone and was dismayed to find the cream squeezing out the other side. He caught it with his other hand. "At least you're articulate. Imagine how bad you'd feel if you were stuck in your decomposing corpse and couldn't move or speak."
"Has that happened?"
"Once or twice. They scream for a silent eternity. The very strong ones manage to get free from their bodies and become wraiths."
"Oh my God. What do you do with them?"
"Dispose of them, naturally. Can't have wraiths flying about scaring the natives."
"How do you do that?" Amanda leaned forward, fascinated.
Jasfoup shrugged. "Spirit level."