‘Like a vision she were. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. I don’t conceal it. 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. I had no curiosity of that kind. She wrote it down.
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