Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. Something tells me I am rushing on greater danger. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. Vite, I pray you. ‘You mean—’ ‘Hilary!’ Lucy turned excited eyes back to Alderley. Always.
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