Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. "That's not an easy question to answer," rejoined Blueskin. "Get up, mother," cried Jack; "do not kneel to him. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. “She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away.
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