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He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. “Promise. He drew a little breath and stepped back. And then she fell into a musing about Capes. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. ” Ennison shrugged his shoulders. The practice has been common for thousands of years. She wore a wonderful dress of turquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which she knew very well now that she would never attend.

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