” 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. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. ” “I hope,” he answered, looking at her in some surprise, “that we shall have many more such to think about. “I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. “You must not think of me as one. I do not blame you for the act.
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