“I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. ” She turned and looked at him. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. ” She breathed an inner sigh of relief. "Ja," answered Van; "at a minut's nodish. You shall not take me alive. He’s got flowers.
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