Anna, who had thrown aside her sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V.
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