’ Gerald eyed her with interest. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. ‘Rather thought I’d have to disarm you when you heard of it. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. There! You are trying to take your hand away. ’ ‘But Gérard knows.
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