It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. ” Then she fell to thinking about her aunt. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch.
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