It's gin—a liquor you used to like. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Like enough. ‘I think,’ he said pleasantly, ‘that it would be as well if you, Hilary, were to go and fetch the troops. ’ ‘Tchah! Better a doubtful welcome here than a confounded French convent. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate.
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