” Annabel rose to her feet. “Just look that through, will you. ’ A sudden clatter of booted feet sounded in the hall beyond. F. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. 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. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired.
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