Lucy cried out, “There is a baby in the crypt! She has taken an infant!” Sebastian struck her across the jaw, sending her flying backwards. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. He slapped his knee.
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