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She changed her garments and put on a loose green neglige, then re- arranged her hair into plaits, forming them into a coronet which made her head appear very small and graceful. From force of habit she opened a bottle of perfume, moistened the palms of her hands and rubbed them over her neck and bosom. At once she felt giddy, even the cold, dampish sheets on her bed seemed to smell of chipre.
Vin de Chereste, demi-bouteille 4 0 Vin de Malvoisie, idem 4 0 Madere sec id. 4 0 Malaga 3 0 Alicante id. 3 0 Muscat 3 0 Le petit verre 0 10 Vermouth Chipre Calabre Paille Palme Constance Tokai Le petit verre 1 0
Lydia Constantinovna sat in the corner of the sofa, covered her shoulders with a plaid shawl, and crossed her legs in the Turkish fashion. "What a smell of chipre there is, Mintz," she murmured in a low voice. "I think I must be tipsy. Yes, I must be. When I drink a great deal I always begin to think there are too many perfumes about.
They suffocate me, I get their taste in my mouth, they sing in my ears and I feel ill.... What a smell of chipre ... it is my favourite perfume: do you smell it?" She looked at Mintz with a half dazed stare, then continued: "In an hour's time I shall be having hysterics. It is always the way when I drink too much. I don't feel cheerful any longer, I feel melancholy now, Mintz.
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