As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and began another. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. We shall have him on his return. You go cheer him up. 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. But I do not even care if I am absurd. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft.
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