Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. What is there?” “Tristan. 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. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. ” “Yes.
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