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of blood. It was no blow to the head that was making him appear dazed. |
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"Simon, what ails you? Are you taken with a weakness from the heat again?" |
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"No." He closed his eyes and swallowed. Even in the poor light Alinor could see that he had paled and was fighting nausea. |
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He has taken the King's sickness, she thought. Her hand flew to his face, but it was cold, not hot. He swallowed again, more easily. |
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"I have brought the letter you desired from the King to comfort the Queen." |
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"The King has not taken any hurt, has he? He is not sick again?" |
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"No, no. He is very well. Better than Oh, God!" |
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He pulled free of her, staggered to the side of the room and retched wrenchingly, supporting himself against the wall. Nothing much came. There was nothing left. Alinor took a deep breath, choked down panic, and went to the door, thanking God that Simon had had enough sense to come to her when he was sick. |
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"You," she said to the page, "get some straw and water and clean up that mess." She turned to Gertrude. "I want water for washing and drinking, and wine, and cloth for bandages, and a needle and silk for sewing flesh. Quick now." |
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Gertrude thrust the slippers into Alinor's hand and, after staring at them as if she had no idea what they were, Alinor bent and put them on. Simon was back near the table when Alinor came into the room. She fetched a stool from the corner. |
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"Sit. You are too tall for me to unarm you standing." |
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"I must go back," Simon said. |
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"Not tonight," Alinor replied. "At least not until I have washed you and seen to your hurts. Not even if I must crown you with this stool to make you lie still." |
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