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. “I had to. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. “It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue.
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