It was bare of any furnishings. "I alone am to blame. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. 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 don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. "What the devil makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?—you seem in a queer plight.
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