He looked at her, hurt. Which was not to say that ladies were not interested in him. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. ’ ‘What?’ Roding’s glare tried Gerald’s control severely, but he pursued his theme unheeding.
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