The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. Maggot. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions.
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