Ice had begun to form in the shallows. Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her. None at all. Think of those days in Paris. “You would be wise to loosen your purse-strings, Gianfrancesco. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch.
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