In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. 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. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. “Who on earth did you study violin with?” Michelle jumped in. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound.
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