On the way home he was still thoughtful. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. He leapt down into the haha surrounding the terrace, and saw that the nun was there also and backing towards him, anxiously checking now and then above the level of the terrace. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. “I am exceedingly sorry,” he said.
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