Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. "Flight is still left me," replied Trenchard. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. "Where's Thames?" he hastily inquired. "Ninny! What did we know about Father, except when he was around the house? But where is the girl? She said something about having tea with us.
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