" The air in the narrow street, which was not eight feet wide, swarmed with smells impossible to define; but all at once the pleasantly pungent odour of Chinese incense drifted across the girl's face, and gratefully she quickened her inhalations. He backed away from her. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. I naturally want to do it up in proper style. I knew it. "Miss Enschede—such an odd name!—are you French?" "Oh, no. She twanged the catgut under her fingers.
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