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. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. Only of course I must begin something else at once.
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