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. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. 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. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. And look, again, at the women one finds letting lodgings. " "I am here in Canton," she replied, simply. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard.
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