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. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad. ‘Help yourself, Hilary. Then, I thought, she has repented, all will be well. If he succeeds there, I do not know how I can prove myself. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips.
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