It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. ‘Certainly, if I was a nun, I know of many good names. She was silent. Wood,—"he'll never mend. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. The business of serving gave Gerald a few moment’s grace, for he was dubious about the effect on an elderly female, not in the best of health, of raking up old memories. He was speechless. “But this is a surprise!” said Ramage. I have a good memory, you perceive, Sir Rowland. I've been thinking about it ever since morning.
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