" "No; it is only—what shall I say?—troubled. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. She was fine and tender. “Then there was a motor accident only an hour or so after this ceremony, and Hill was reported to be killed. I love you more.
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