She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. McClintock was in a gay mood at dinner that night; but he did not see fit to give these children the true reason. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both.
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