She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. The lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual. ” “Does she have to sell her soul to the Devil?” Lucy asked, feeling stupid. They were sure to catch up with her. “I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do we?” “He seems to get a zest—” “He does it and forgets it.
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