She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. 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. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. There was a girlfriend who was mentally ill. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. Her heart ached; and that puzzled her.
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