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. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces. But we were both pledged to secrecy, and I couldn’t reveal my part for fear that I would lose my place. They were followed by Mr.
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