“It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject. ‘I left a message at home that he should do so as soon as he returned from Kent. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. 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.
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