He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. Bu kokulara karşı bir çözüm arayışı, genç bir Fransız parfümör olan Sophie için bir tutkuya dönüştü.
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