She’s right upstairs. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. I have—run away. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. If he stayed in the basement apartment as was his usual habit, she would have no problem.
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