‘Go then. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. It tore her apart. That would be an unkind twist of fate. Say I’m out, away, anything!” “I am sorry, sir,” the man answered, “but she had sent away her hansom before I answered the bell.
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