The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. Your career at the bar had given you a command of language, also a self-control not vouchsafed to us ordinary mortals. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. A friend of mine, Ogilvy’—I suppose that’s Ogilvy & Ogilvy, who do so many divorces, Vee?—‘was speaking very highly of it—very highly!’” He smiled into her eyes.
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