She was reasonably certain why. However, it would only be robbing the hangman of his dues. 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. The world had not passed by but had gone around it in a tremendous half-circle. Kneebone's habitation, the shutters of which were closed, and knocked at the door. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality.
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