Lucia had never been so happy, so content. 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. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. The major hailed him with a show of relief. ’ ‘Estate? But are you not obliged to do this work of the milice?’ asked Melusine, her eyes round.
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