" "I don't require it," returned Sheppard. ” “Delusion!” he muttered, glaring at her. . He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. “I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now. It was my destiny to have her. Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II. Bu kokulara karşı bir çözüm arayışı, genç bir Fransız parfümör olan Sophie için bir tutkuya dönüştü.
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