‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. 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. "Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. " "No—no," laughed Jack.
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