She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat. John Sheppard. 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. Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. His smile faded. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. But oh, how weary I am! I know.
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