. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. ” Ennison was dismayed. “Please don’t,” she said. "Well?" he said, as Spurlock reached his side.
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