"My portrait!" echoed Jack. 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. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. ‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused. Cast off this weakness. She turned back into the hall. Stanley lost patience. " "Stay!" said Mrs. “Please, Michelle, let’s not fight.
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