"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. She touched it, and her gaze lifted.
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