There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. 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. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. Michelle laughed, saying that she could only guess. It must be the dawn creeping in.
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