She lived, he noted, very carelessly. Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death. 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. ” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. "See how glad he is!" His irony and displeasure subsided. “Mean as an old mule, too.
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