She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. The significance of the kiss was still obscure to her, though she had frequently encountered the word and act in the Old and New Testaments and latterly in novels. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. What more could any reasonable man— especially a watchman—desire? Besides, the Marquis, is a devilish fine fellow, and a particular friend of mine. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story.
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