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 spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. Ain't you, Jacky darling?" "Not quite, Poll," returned Mr. They've heard quite enough for my purpose," he muttered, as his orders were obeyed, and the domestics excluded. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat.
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