There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. “I think that you were inquiring for Mr. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night.
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