She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. I hate to see you spoil yourself with guys like me. She snatched about in her mind. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then. Because of the Dance. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. ’ ‘Then you shall no longer do so. I ask you, although it is not my place to ask you, to return home. She could not help but swoon a little.
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