She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. . ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. He had made it even easier by walking up the steps instead of taking the elevator.
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