The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. \" Lucy said. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. After all, that was life.
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