His sister Kat, her husband, Morgan Williams, have been plucked from this life as fast as his daughters were taken, one day walking and talking and next day cold as stones, tumbled into their Thames-side graves and dug in beyond reach of the tide, beyond sight and smell of the river; deaf now to the sound of Putney's cracked church bell, to the smell of wet ink, of hops, of malted barley, and the scent, still animal, of woolen bales; dead to the autumn aroma of pine resin and apple candles, of soul cakes baking.
In "Wolf Hall," the protagonist experiences profound loss as his sister Kat and her husband Morgan are abruptly taken from life, mirroring the senselessness of his daughters' deaths. Their lives, once vibrant and full of mundane activities, are now reduced to distant memories, buried and unreachable, removed from the beauty of life and nature that once surrounded them, like the river Thames.
The vivid imagery of everyday scents and sounds highlights the contrast between life and death, emphasizing the finality of their graves. The protagonist is left to grapple with the painful absence of their presence, as the world continues to move around them, indifferent to their loss. The once familiar comforts now serve as reminders of what has been irrevocably lost.
