The piece, in three movements, was short enough anyway. I want to leave Paris to-day—this very day. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. Nothing. I want her to get forward, to set her among people who'll understand what to do with her. 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.
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