She felt terrible lying to him. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. " "That's well. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. And Suzanne, even that she has behaved to me not at all like a mother, would also not have said.
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