She knew the truth of it all right. "'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. His absence was thought by the charitable to be from grief. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. 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. Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively.
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