‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. I don’t think we’re altogether to blame if we don’t take some of your lot seriously. " Carefully depositing Winifred on a sofa, Jack then extinguished the light, and, as he unfastened the door, crept behind it. He was an imaginative young man. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle.
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