The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. Auntie has taken the nails out of my palms, but the scars will always be there. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. “By Jove!” he said, “there is something direct about you. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters.
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