‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. Advancing towards Wood, Jonathan fixed his keen gray eyes upon him, and demanded, in a stern tone whether the persons who had taken refuge in the adjoining house, were bailiffs. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story.
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