" "That's impossible," replied Jack. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. 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. \"No, not really. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark.
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