Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs. This is not what I want. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Sebastian physically restrained her as she hit and scratched at him, trying to touch her mother who went swiftly into her death throes.
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