Sebastian rose from the tomb. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. I tried painting and couldn’t get on. An old man and a young girl, the one as stubbornly offensive as the other. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly.
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