There was also the daunting task of getting dressed. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. Footman or some such. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. 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.
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