“Afterwards,” she said, “I should be perfectly content to have everything done for me. ” 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. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations.
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