” For a time she sat on a rail before leaving the road for the downland turf. 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. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. ‘Do not be imbecile. " Sir Rowland moved irresolutely towards the door, but recoiled before a sad spectacle. You know you do, Annabel.
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