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. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered. But that possibility had been anticipated. The Master of the Mint. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out.
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