All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. “But, dear, think! He is your father. Wood's. 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. “Thank you—and good-bye. I told the soldier how he must go by the passage, and he found it and brought it here. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. But you need not fear,’ she added, shaking him off.
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