She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. "We work together no more. ‘Well, I can see you won’t let it alone, so what do you propose to do about the wench?’ ‘I’ll die before I let it alone,’ Gerald vowed. It had been easy to steal. ” She paused.
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