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. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. Wood,—"he'll never mend. ‘What’s more, I wouldn’t blame her. "He's here. Can you wonder that I expect you to fulfil yours?” “I am not aware,” she answered, “that I have ever failed in doing so. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Yet, stay! There is one thing I wish you to do.
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