It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. β She replied. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. β βHe would have been dead before now without it,β the doctor answered shortly.
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