She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. Silk. "I've got something to say to you," continued the speaker, rather less harshly; "something to your advantage; so come out o' your hiding-place, and let's have some supper, for I'm infernally hungry. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it.
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