He added, ‘Also others, but I don’t recall them. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. The Times slipped from his fingers. Her efforts were vain. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. ’ A grimace crossed her face.
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