She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. " "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed. ‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. A few more minutes, and she was safe. She loved for him to regale her with the stories of his past, the days of ancient Greece. The fellow Kimble, to whom Gerald was indebted, was gaping.
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