It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible.
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