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. “But I wanted to see you. She was still good at following orders. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. “I’m sorry. She’s right upstairs. “I heard nothing,” he declared, “and my ears are good.
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