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She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. The elusive Jane tapped her on the shoulder after class. “Oh no, you’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” “No Julian. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class.
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