Chapter 11

⁠​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​⁠The sweet smells that were everywhere in San Salvatore were alone enough to produce concord. They came into the sitting-room from the flowers on the battlements, and met the ones from the flowers inside the room, and almost, thought Mrs. Wilkins, could be seen greeting each other with a holy kiss. Who could be angry in the middle of such gentlenesses? Who could be acquisitive, selfish, in the old