She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. ‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers.
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