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Constance believes the air around her to be rarefied. Her odors, a pleasure for others. Her perfumes, an an announcement. Her powders, a monologue. Her cigarette smoke, an immediate impression. So what if others were angered by her bold scented actions. Even if you did not see or hear Constance, you knew she was there. And when she left, she lingered like an afterthought. People would remember her.