"What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. "Lord, if I can only remember to write it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. \"What's your number?\" Michelle asked Lucy. \"May I come in?\" His bravado was increasing. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story.
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