" "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. “Oh I most definitely think so. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape.
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