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” 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. “So you’d best open your coffers. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones. . . ” Lucy reflected. Inside was the blue stone she had lost in the 1800’s.
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