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. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. There is a new life, different from the old life of dependence, possible. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day. "All's bowman, my covey.
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