’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. It’s no good flying out at that, Vee; I didn’t arrange it.
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