” 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. Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again.
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