Here goes. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. ‘I do not steal,’ declared the lady hotly. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. “When it comes there is no mistaking it.
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