Wood, terrified by the wildness of her looks. If Ann Veronica could have put words to that song they would have been, “Hot-blooded marriage or none!” but she was far too indistinct in this matter to frame any words at all. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. He must know she’ll be at a convent. 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.
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