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. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again.
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