“Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. But shurely I'd know that vice," he added, turning his lantern towards the janizary. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense.
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