"She wouldn't let me go. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. I warned her not to say a word, for it would mean the death of everyone in the Palazzo, including you. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. But he has never been near her—never.
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