A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. The doctor's lessons, perhaps delivered with too much serious emphasis, had destroyed that buoyant confidence in her ability to take care of herself. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. Stow it in the saddle, for I will take it with me. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague.
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