Chapter 70
She stopped dead in the middle of his rug, her throat fluttering beneath the veil.
"Us?"
"Have you just wandered off the streets? Come to the wrong house? Or are without the slightest idea of the ruin this will spell for your reputation?"
"For sure, if our paths had ever crossed, I would be certain to recall someone so very charming and caring as your good self."
"Well, that's a relief. Even if no one's said I was that before."
He wrinkled his nose. What was that smell? That awful stink assaulting his nostrils? Orange? Bergamot? Rose-musk? Lilac? Myrtle? Every hideous odor in the flower bed snaking about his sitting room. His sacred place that smelled of cigars, brandy, and decay. He walked to the window and threw up the sash, breathed deeply three times of the essence of horse dung and dead rodents, let it wind up his nose, strike the casing of his skull, then he blew his breath out again and dragged up his head.
"Out. Chasens, remove her."
"I-" she began.
"Now."