The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. "That's your hunting ground," said the doctor. 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. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged.
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