She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. He certainly bore inspection. Three more people came to meet them at the door. 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. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. Almost light-heartedly. " "All right, then.
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