" "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration. 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. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. ‘That is my mother. Either ignorant of the accident, or heedless of it, the foremost horseman pursued his way without even turning his head.
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