” His voice rose and fell amidst the music and the singing of Tristan and King Mark, like a voice heard in a badly connected telephone. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. “You will be so late. 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. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still.
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