Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. “Our ways happened to lie together. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. Before leaving the place he looked upwards, and could just discern the blue vault and pale stars of Heaven through an iron grating at the top. Love and companionship. 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. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. On this I am resolved.
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