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’ Kimble’s eyes widened. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. “That’s it,” she said. " Bamboo and bead tinkled and slithered behind him. After the sights he would have to twiddle his thumbs until the joints cracked. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair.
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