You're luck. Mr. 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. "Sir Rowland must be gone. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one. Here they were regaled with another plentiful meal by the hospitable carpenter, who personally superintended the repast.
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