I would that you were my own. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. 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 so, I may as well execute my warrant. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. I'll be feeling fine in no time.
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