" The air in the narrow street, which was not eight feet wide, swarmed with smells impossible to define; but all at once the pleasantly pungent odour of Chinese incense drifted across the girl's face, and gratefully she quickened her inhalations. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. ‘Oh, peste.
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