Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. Her sister’s words were true. She should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. It was a unique experience for her to wash him. ‘You are wise, Marthe. She could not see clearly. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door.
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