She writhed in ecstasy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, then raised her knees to his shoulders. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. Also he had said—laughing in that way with his eyes which made a flutter in her chest— that Prudence will find an Englishman to marry her. He saw Enschede, making the empty sea, alone, alone, forever alone. Sebastian, too, seemed to be immune, even though cats, dogs, and beasts of the suffered just as the humans did: blackening and dying, their eyes rolling, their bodies covered with bald buboes. Listen to me, Winifred.
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