He shall expiate his offences on the gibbet. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge. 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. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense.
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