Sebastian snorted, “If it isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black!” “Your house is host to the lowest forms of life, those without morals! I will no longer allow my children to live 210 in such a house. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. Wood, delighted at the idea. The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears.
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