She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. " "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her.
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