"You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. The latter had delivered himself from one of his assailants, the attendant, Davies. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. ’ He threw one arm across his own chest and clapped himself on the shoulder. The movement was fatal to her son. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. .
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