“If I cut her neck, you’ll never get the stains out of your fancy car. I got a rusty bolt cutter. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Besides the table close by loaded with books, there was a central table with upright chairs around, covered in a multitude of papers, inks and quills, and assorted unrelated items such as playing cards. Earles protested, seating himself before the desk, and dipping his pen in the ink.
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