She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. There, in a little tea and sweetstuff shop, she bought and consumed slowly and absent-mindedly the insufficient nourishment that is natural to her sex on such occasions. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. ‘Here we go again.
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