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E. 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. “Mike, that’s not even remotely funny. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. One did not use pistols against a female. With this view, he descended the hill and presently found a footpath leading to the church.
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