They made a stratum into which Ann Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. It was hard to meet that gaze. 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. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. Probably hadn't.
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