After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. Don't you see Mr. ” 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. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him.
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