“A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!. “No, I am alone,” she answered. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch.
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