Down in my part of the world it's all a man has to go by. He gurgled as if trying to communicate. “I do,” he answered. “How do you feel?” she asked. 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. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. Such freedoms from such people were not to be endured.
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