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. Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. “I was very foolish to have been deceived even for a moment. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. H’m. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. “You’re an idiot and your attitude is repugnant. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled.
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