” 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. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. She 191 picked up the remote, usurping it of its dividing status between their bodies. He had not noticed the girl particularly when she offered the sandwiches; but in this moment he found her beautiful. " "Heaven help her!" sighed Jack. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head.
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