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“I cannot keep silence any longer. I love you. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. "No offence, I hope, my dear Mrs. ’ ‘Remenham House,’ exclaimed Trodger, who had been watching this interchange open-mouthed. I should know you—in Heaven or Hell. 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. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce.
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