Sebastian dug through the viscous layers of foul-smelling clay with a shovel, each successive insertion creating an obscene sucking noise that ate at her sanity. Say I will come to him. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. "A thousand dollars in British pounds!… A thousand dollars for four short stories!" The tan on Spurlock's face lightened. The period of repression was over.
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