It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. "You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. That terrible Young Person! she’s vanished. . “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. She had lost it. “Mr. ” “It’s the perpetual trouble,” he said, “of parent and child. "I release you from your promise.
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