“I am not sure,” Anna answered. 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. None presented themselves to save him from that return. Altogether, it was a hideous and revolting sight. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. . You are to come home. I am resolved to see her, without delay, and ascertain if it's possible to remove her. Well, one must hope, that was all. Give me the chisel, Blueskin.
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