’ ‘Don’t count on it. 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 felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. ” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. The girl was in the game now, and that narrowed the circle.
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