Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. “My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this.
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