"What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. 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. If you can tell me nothing I don’t already know, so be it. ” She groaned aloud and bowed her forehead to her knees. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. Most people, every one I know else, seem to have mated with foreigners and to talk uneasily in unfamiliar tongues, to be afraid of the knowledge the other one has, of the other one’s perpetual misjudgment and misunderstandings.
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