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: [sitting under an oak with Charles Ryder
] Just the place to bury a crock of gold. I should like to bury something precious, in every place I've been happy. And then when I was old, and ugly and miserable, I could come back, and dig it up, and remember.
: Charles is reading history, but he wants to be an artist. Anthony Blanche
: No! Sebastian Flyte
: Why ever not? Anthony Blanche
: Either you are an artist, or you are not. Boy Markaster
: Hear, hear. Charles Ryder
: Then I am.
: Charles! You're to come away at once. I've got a basket of strawberries and a bottle of Chateau Peyraguey, which isn't a wine you've ever tasted so don't pretend.
: It's rather a pleasant change... when all your life you've had people looking after you, to have someone to look after, yourself.
: I'm sorry. Sebastian Flyte
: Whatever for? Charles Ryder
: I asked too much of you. I knew it all along, really. Only God can give you that sort of love.
: It was my fault for bringing you to Brideshead. Run away. Run far away and don't ever look back.