The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. So it would always be between herself and Manning. Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. 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.
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