I'm heading for bed. 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. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. They lived in a castle, the same place she had been turned in. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. The contact is disturbing; and we prefer going around the fact to facing it. He's had a hard knock somewhere; and until he is strong enough to walk, we must keep his interest away from that thought. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. Quite soon, after we were married—it was just within a year—I formed a friendship with the wife of a friend, a woman eight years older than myself.
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