“More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. But we smirk a little, I’m afraid, habitually when we talk to you. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you.
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