Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. She looked in the rear-view mirror. "Disparity of rank is ever productive of unhappiness in the married state. I've got the watch-spring saw in my sleeve. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground.
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