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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. “I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now. \" Michelle's shoulders sank, feeling the weight of the pack. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. Not up here, I think. The dizziness made the trees sickening, the smell of Michelle’s perfume soapy and revolting.
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