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. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. I have had no one but for you. “You know nothing about the stage. “You seem to have come from Miss Pellissier’s rooms. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife.
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