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. Good riddance. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled.
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