This one too she read. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. But "fine" is the word. ‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald.
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