"Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. She had black hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work and made them subtle and fine. Groups of boys took to ogling her as she walked frenetically from class to class. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword.
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