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. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. He couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself. “She”, you say. His name is John. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.
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