A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. The Master of the Mint. “My charm of manner, I suppose. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. It was exactly as Sebastian had foreseen.
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