” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. "Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. 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. You are not unlike Pandora.
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