"But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. 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 seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. ’ Then she ran swiftly out of the library, calling out as her cavalier was almost at the front door. Be kind to her. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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