She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. " "Your prisoner!" echoed Jonathan, derisively. \" His brown eyes were tired and full of concern. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. He was caked with dried muck. Listen, you. . I'm a stickler about clothes and clean chins.
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