. . Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. The air was thick with feelings. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. Perhaps her granddaughter might marry his grandson. Sanguine they were not. When she awoke, her husband held her hand as 31 Sebastianus urged her to drink weak wine.
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