The unpleasant oily chill of fever overtook her body, and she watched in horror as Sebastian carried her to his bed on his shoulder like a sack of flour. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire. Then perhaps I shall send for him if he has not forgotten. ’ ‘But you are bleeding like a pig,’ came the frantic response.
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