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. Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. Refused admittance, they broke open the door. Not a breath was drawn. I don’t care what divides us. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly.
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