" "Never," said Mrs. ” She thanked him with a look and rose to her feet. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. ” “I suppose all IS well that ends well. We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. “Do tell me all about it.
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