She was thinking fast now, all her senses on the alert. Her head ached with a hollow pain. CHAPTER XII. “Here goes,” he said. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. A couple of gilt straight-backed chairs only. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below.
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