After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp. “We’re going to be sensible. I feel years younger, a man again. "What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves.
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