A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. She must kill this man, or kill herself. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. “She must look forward to Italy. ‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. 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. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out.
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