He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose. ‘Why don’t you?’ Melusine frowned at him, grasping the dagger more firmly. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. 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 had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches.
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