His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. His expression altered. Kneebone. A nurse was at the other end of the room. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours.
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