She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. “Yeah, where the hell were you? My friends would have driven you home when I came home if I could have found you. “But I am judge of that,” said Manning. . “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. She crept out of the shadows. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit.
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