It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated. "Won't be under an obligation. I love you all the more for the streak of sheer devil in you. 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.
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