The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. 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. Michelle was laid onto the back seat, her head cradled in Lucy’s lap. There haven't been so many ladies in the Lodge since the days of Claude Du Val, the gentleman highwayman; and they all declare it'll break their hearts if he's scragged. She pushed him gently on the chest. She wanted to be alone.
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