” He snarled. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. ’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. Forgive me. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying.
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