Sam cursed as he spit a gob of spittle and mud from his mouth. "This ain' right," He said, his teeth gritty with the sand in the muck, "It ain't right, I say."
Alberto paused from his digging to glare back at him, his breath labored from shoveling the mud, "It 'as to be done, an' you know it to be true." The men stood in the dark,
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