She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. "Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. Whenever ecstasy— any kind of ecstasy—filled her heart to bursting, these physical expressions eased the pressure.
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