32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. Giles's round-house. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan.
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