Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. "Your uncle must protect you. I want to talk to you, and I must return tomorrow. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. “I wonder if there are any good women really.
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