The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. But it was only six-thirty. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. She went out into the hall, where she met the Jedsons in their kimonos.
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