“My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. "Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. As for my past, Michelle, and Michael’s, it is a book of woeful chapters better left unread. .
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