" "But, man, this chap hasn't fallen soft. ’ ‘So you think she is an émigré?’ Lucilla put in before the incensed Roding could respond. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table.
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