It was an easy one to smell early on, Sebastian had taught her: anything reproductive. Along the inner side was a wonderfully arranged series of displayed specimens that Russell himself had prepared. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside.
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