‘Move, you. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. She turned there and beckoned. ” She shrugged her shoulders. Her head rose. 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. Why may I not be your friend? Somehow or other I feel that you have been driven into a false position.
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