Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes. It’s kind of the World War II thing. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. ” “And you can’t?” “I don’t think I ought to control myself. 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. ‘Dear me. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. "Ruth, you must not come and sit on the threshold.
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