He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. ‘You are a born rebel, ma’am, and I can see now where she gets it from. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. She had never heard anything so unholy. 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. It’s no half reform either. ’ She had given nothing away. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened.
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