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 the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. "You're wanted. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office.
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