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  Taking care of the young master was going fairly well. The cold didn't seem to affect his appetite at all, and he was constantly drinking water and hot tea. I kept wondering to myself if I should check on the servants, but then remembered that they had worked here years without me, so I assumed they should be fine on their own, even without Sebastian here.

All was well until his fever suddenly shot up. He began groaning, tossing and turning and kicking the sheets off and pulling them back on, mumbling things—things about a dog, and a red woman, a ring, and so forth. None of it made sense to me whatsoever.

I knew I had to do something to bring the fever down when he stopped moving and became completely incoherent, save an occasional moan. And so I picked him up carefully and carried him to the bathtub—a last minute resort.

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