Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. Every one has to make a deal with the world. ‘There is no one who could have told him this. ” 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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