“Thank you. ” 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. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. “A serious question. ’ ‘Do you indeed?’ rejoined the old lady, twinkling at him, and urging him towards the door. But stand by and hear such things said about my late mistress’s daughter, I won’t. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone.
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