Petrified and speechless, he turned an imploring look at Wild, who was himself filled with astonishment at the pile of rubbish lying before him. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. To think of him as loving her would make all that different. Courtlaw stood up.
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