‘Do not say such things, you—you imbecile. She felt it would save explanations if she did not state she had left her home and was looking for employment. 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. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “My name is certainly Pellissier,” she said, “but I am very sorry—I do not recognize you in the least. It'll be in your way.
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