When she heard it, Amaranta thought of Pietro Crespi, his evening gardenia, and his smell of lavender, and in the depths of her withered heart a clean rancor flourished, purified by time.
听句话, 阿玛兰塔想起了皮埃特罗·克雷斯皮,想起了他的黄昏栀子花薰衣草的香味, 在她枯萎的心灵深处, 一种干净的怨恨在时间的洗礼下滋生。