He had adroitly captured her and led her away from her other guests on the pretext of feigning an interest in her charitable attitude to the newly arrived French. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. As soon as he was gone, the two women divested themselves of their hoods and cloaks, and threw them, as if inadvertently, into the farthest part of the angle in the wall. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us. And from that point they went on to a thoroughly embittering wrangle.
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