"I told you that before," rejoined Wood, testily. ” “Ah!” Sir John exclaimed. “I am sure of it. On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. 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. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. It's a pity you wouldn't give me the prescription instead of the medicine, so I could have it filled nearer home. James's built for offices of the meanest description. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days.
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