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Unformatted text preview: she smelted it. All mingled with the cold four-o'clocks. A very seductive smell. Sort of, well, delicious, she thought. Like caramel or butterscotch could be delicious, only it wasn't a food smell. A little rage kindled in her suddenly for whoever had hurt Michael Curry. She'd liked him from the moment she laid eyes on him. She'd liked Rowan Mayfair too. She'd longed for moments alone with them to ask them things and tell them things, and especially to ask them to give her the Victrola, if they could find it. But those opportunities had never come. She knelt down on the flags now as she had done before. She touched the cold stone that hurt her bare knees. The smell was here all right. But she saw nothing. She looked up at the dark servants' porch of the main house. Not a light anywhere. Then she looked beyond the iron fence to the carriage house behind Deirdre's oak. One light. That meant Henri was still awake. Well, what about it? She could handle Henri. She had figured out tonight at the supper after Comus that Henri was already scared...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10