“Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. “Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner.
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