’ ‘That depends, that does,’ said Trodger guardedly. She shut the door behind her. ‘I have Joan to tell me how much I look like Mary. ’ Gerald shrugged. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. . The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them.
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