"Don't speak ill of him behind his back, father," interposed Thames. “Thank you—and good-bye. He might not condone it, but the feelings that had prompted it augured well for Melusine’s safety. You did not learn that in a convent. 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 crown has passed from the brow of one monarch to that of another.
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