A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands. "Oh gracious! he's lost. She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms. "Take my life, if you're so disposed.
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