By the side of her plate was a small key. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. ‘Well said, my dear.
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