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. Wood fancied he recognised. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. The flat was apparently empty. She used to play violin, you know. . ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. ” “You must admit,” he declared, “that to us—who had seen you—the thought of your trying anything else was amazing. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. . ” “Your sister,” he answered, “did me the honour of dining with me last night. “I’ll buy a new one.
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