You know you do, Annabel. CHAPTER VII. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated.
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