Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. 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. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. He would pull this young fellow back; but later he knew that he would have to fight the boy's lack of will to live. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly.
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