She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. I’m a desperate young woman. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. 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. "And now," said Thames, (for we must still preserve the name,) "you will no longer defer my happiness.
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