Sebastian looked up and stood. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. You don’t deserve it, but he does. What his head conceived his hand executed. "Well, that beats all I ever heard of!" roared Blueskin. “He has said something of the sort. Now, no more questions, or I shall be forced to leave the room. ‘Here you, Pottiswick.
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