She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. The three of them laughed joyously. “Thanks, so do you. This isn't your island, child; it's the great world. 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.
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