She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess. But Gerald wouldn’t hear of it. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. White,” she remarked. You were never married at all. He cannot. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. "She was mine before you ever saw her.
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