She felt as if she had struck them unawares. 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. ‘In fact you admitted only that you had no more weapons. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. My death, probably. He knew it was unnerving, he did it to everyone, even his own kin. Wood's house at Dollis Hill on Tuesday'—that's two days ago,—'hasn't been heard of since. He had the air of a man who has said too much.
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