"Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" vociferated Jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure. Spurling, you're a witness to the bet. After all, Hilary must be near returned by now. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. 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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