“Quite on my own,” she said. It would be the wrappered world almost at its best. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. Yet you knew that I was not dead. “I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. They were filthy after the burial.
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