” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. Every one took him for the millionaire, and he had lost his head about me. . I shall still believe in you. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. Too much blood has been shed already. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. He kept that, but the rest.
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