Chapter 168: The drunken night

By the time Anne got Augustine to the bed, he was slightly more lucid—still dazed, still heavy-limbed, but not completely lost. She draped a blanket over his shoulders as he sank onto the mattress.

"I am sorry," he murmured. His eyes were on her—tired, glassy, but full of something raw. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Please forgive me."