He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. ‘They hold their nose up, so. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. This way there will be not so much shame, and the vicomte will let them remain. Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands. She did not wince. I've often regretted that I didn't investigate the matter. Sepulchre's church. She spoke slowly. Charcoal.
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