Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. "And now, widow," continued the ruffian, setting down the candle, and applying his lips to the bottle neck as he flung his heavy frame upon a bench, "I've a piece o' good news for you. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. I think you are hard.
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