The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. A sob was strangled in her throat. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. \"Finished mine in Study Hall. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted.
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