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. ‘Sapristi. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. ’ ‘Probably not. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured.
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