Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. “Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort. I wondered what you could be doing and what might be happening to you. ” He stared at her incredulously, and she laughed very softly. “It is very, very difficult,” she continued, looking steadfastly at the ground. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. He also knew that she was the one responsible for the murders of Diane, Eric, and Michelle Vorsack on a single night. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech.
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