" Which was literally the truth. It’s an emerald. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. 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. “These are her rooms,” she said. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint. They had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard.
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