The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. “Gross. Not then. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. This intercourse, which had been planned to warm Ann Veronica to a familiar affection with Ramage, was certainly warming Ramage to a constantly deepening interest in Ann Veronica. “I’m not nearly so sure as you.
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