But we get over it. ” Lucy made fast friends with Jane Lenihan that day. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. “These are the sort of things that aren’t supposed to happen. Anna watched her with curious eyes. Her head swam. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil.
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