"Don't think to deceive me by your false pretences. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. Mild, you know, and boon. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. I said as how I’d tell Mr Jarvis as he wanted to take you away. There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. It was open.
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