She had found that proof. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path. 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. ‘You have said you do not wish to hurt me. My reception at West Kensington you know of. I’ve no name for it yet. John. ‘Jacques, do not die while I am gone.
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