" Jonathan made no reply, but ordered his myrmidons to drag the prisoner along. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer. But all normal humans smelled wonderful to her, even dirty ones.
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