“Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. Neither your aunt nor I have any other thought but what is best for you. 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. ’ ‘Gammon!’ burst from the captain, who had just tossed off a glass of Madeira. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. The touch of her hands was pleasurable. I will take her away and make her serve me as my wife.
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