The blood temporarily halted to her brain, Michelle slept peacefully again. 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. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. At nine o'clock, the sheriffs arrived, followed by their officers and javelin-men.
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