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 she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. "Now's your time," cried Blueskin, struggling desperately with his assailants and inflicting severe cuts with his knife. ” He would say every time she wore it. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion.
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