It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. “I dare not,” she answered. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. (“No, no. He had brought her here to this place—where her freedom was curtailed even more than at the convent so that a cavalier was very much needed—and only on Monday came again.
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