The carte de jour was before Monsieur. 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. “I was born there. “Or I know another one who wears cologne. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly.
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