“By Jove!” he said, “there is something direct about you. "Well?" he whispered. She always dawdled, so it was easy. 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. That was supposed to be Madame Valade. Damn! I’ve splashed. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. There was a long silence between them. “Let’s hope your successor is worthy of you.
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