They had got all this down already—they heard the substance of it now for the fourteenth time. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. Until she had left her island, what she heard and what she saw were truths. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce.
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