It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. “Here, dis is for you. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. “Your mother was a Gypsy. ” He made a step toward her. The next moment he was by her side. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. . "My head fairly turns round.
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