Ten minutes later, Van appeared at her bedside.

The room was dimly lit, filled with the heavy, sickly scent of alcohol. Winnie, in a dazed state, saw the person in front of her pull her into his arms. His hand pressed against her forehead, and he decisively said, "You have a fever. I'm taking you to the hospital."

"No," Winnie murmured weakly, her silk camisole tangled at her legs.

"Be good, you'll feel better soon." Van attempted to lift her.

Winnie clung to the bed, ...