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. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor.
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