She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. 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. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. He seated himself before it. It was free of leering men, unthinkable punishments, and human evil. And yet the moment I am safely out of the way you are content to dress yourself in my rags, to go and get yourself popular and admired and successful, all on my reputation. And you’re as clean as fire.
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