Sebastian snorted, “If it isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black!” “Your house is host to the lowest forms of life, those without morals! I will no longer allow my children to live 210 in such a house. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study. Come down, I say, instantly, or I'll make you. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. The beachcomber, the lowest in the human scale; and some day he would enter into this estate.
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