Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. Martha was quite right. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. ’ That wonderful poster—is of you.
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