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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. "Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's offer—that's three hundred. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. " "And perish upon the gibbet," rejoined Jonathan contemptuously. Sailors would leave them at the trader's. No more. Did you know you’re very maternal? Damn, you’re more maternal than my Mom.
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