Earles glanced at it, and his eyes flashed with anger. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. But kill me rather than commit this outrage. There is a button loose on that coat under your pillow. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door. No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind. 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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