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. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. . Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. ’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Lucilla enthusiastically.
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