"Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. ” “Friends!” said her father. ‘Do you think I am afraid of a sword in the hand of a slip of a girl?’ For answer, Melusine lunged at him. 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. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror.
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