She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. “I think,” she said, “that I will tell you everything. “The first person you love, Ann Veronica, is yourself—get hold of that! The soul you have to save is Ann Veronica’s soul. It'll be advertised to-morrow. But I must summon my janizaries. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word. “Besides, it is not so.
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