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. "I must go. He'll be brought out at this door, and may probably make some resistance. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. There never is much left for me. ‘You have something more to tell me?’ Jack grinned.
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