Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. He had bled everywhere, but she had struck when the opportunity was ripe. Luckily, Sir James was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture escaped him. 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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