She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. "I should like to meet the man who would dare to gainsay it. Salvation. I’ll be ready in a moment. " Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat.
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