She intercepted the glance the spinsters exchanged, and immediately sensed that she had said too much. She bent down. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Come to take leave. See, it is on my cards—M. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. First, I went to Country Tom's, the Goat, in Long Lane.
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