Then she examined with curiosity some knick-knacks upon a small round table by her side. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own.
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