The fever came. . “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. Wood, in equal trepidation. ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence. There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. It was immediately opened by a man with light eyelashes and a manner suggestive of restrained passion.
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