If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. ‘Ah, no,’ Gerald uttered at once, lowering his voice and infusing it with all the promise he could command. It was Jack's intention to have knocked him down with the iron bar; but he was so struck with the janizary's looks, that he determined to spare him till he had ascertained his purpose.
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