The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. “Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. “You found the flat easily?” said Capes in the pause. " "Aye, music hits them.
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