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. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. Jonathan Wild, at this time, was on the high-road to the greatness which he subsequently, and not long afterwards, obtained.
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