It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that she loved Capes. Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. “Annabel;” he moaned. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. 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.
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