Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. 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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