She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. “Let’s go in here. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. ’ ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. . As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen.
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