"I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. "Mrs. Lucy replied, \"My hair has a mind of its own. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. Her heart thudded. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. When anybody is natural, these days, we dub them queer. ” 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.
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