It would be the culmination of her plan. 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. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. "Do me the favour to seat yourself, Jack," said Sir James. But he was wide awake. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00.
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