The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. I'd go for it. He no longer made love to her, as there was no point. 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. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. The forgiveness and reconciliation was a cold and formal affair, and afterwards her father went off gloomily to his study, and Mr.
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