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Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. "My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression. Gerald sighed. Sheppard, sinking backwards upon the pallet.
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