He turned round toward her and found her looking at him and standing very still. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. ” 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. He did not quarrel with Rowland's profusion, for his own revenues were ample; but he did object to the large sums lavished by him in the service of a faction he was resolved not to support.
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