Then Gosse spoke again, answering the question in her mind. " "What a strange history is mine!" said Thames. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. . But even you cannot alter her character. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. I don't know whose brainless head it may be, but it'll do for my collection. Such pretty manners, she thought.
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