Greece was a different place. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. ‘But―but how can he know?’ His soldier’s instinct overtook Gerald and he dropped all his insouciance in a bang, becoming brisk. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood.
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