She donned her gloves. “Morning, Mom. In the sixth center row sat an unexpected guest, his Classical Greek features stark in the yellow half light. But you are Annabel. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. In this state, he was laid upon a bench, to sleep off his drunken fit, while his wretched mother, in spite of her passionate supplications and resistance, was, by Blueskin's command, forcibly ejected from the house, and driven out of the Mint. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world.
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