’ She sipped at the liquid in her glass, but her eyes remained fixed, rather unnervingly, on Gerald. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. The blood will rest on your head. This is also the ragged edge of the world, too. “Politics!” Ennison answered grimly. I’m sick of this town and I can’t wait to get out. "I shall value it highly, and will promise never to part with it.
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