The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. Because of the Dance. She can't last long. " "Ha! hussy, dare you threaten?" cried Wild; but, checking himself, he turned to Ireton and asked, "How long have the women been gone?" "Scarcely five minutes," replied the latter.
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