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. Marriage!—and no woman by to tell the child what it was! The shocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly—and bitterly. I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. Presently. ‘Tee-ree-sa. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly.
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