She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. "My mother is avenged. 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. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. Blueskin will take care of the horses, and I'll go with you.
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