“Come sit with me, beautiful. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. But, no. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. "I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. 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.
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