Angel's POV
"These bastards," Agnes said with enough Vernon. "These absolute, unforgivable, foul …"
"I know," I said.
"I smell like something died in me, Angel."
"You don't…"
"I smell like the bottom of a merchant's cart and many weeks of misery and I will never forgive them for it, not for as long as I live, not for one single…"
"Agnes." I was trying not to laugh and mostly failing. "Let me help you with the laces."
She submitted, still muttering, while I worked at the back of the dress - a rough, shapeless thing in the grey of old ash. I got the last lace free and she stepped out of it with the disgust of a woman shedding something offensive.
"Burn it," she said.
"I'll have it taken away…"
"Burn it, Angel. I want to watch."
"Agnes…"
