Kneebone, addressing his comely attendant; "put a few more plates on the table, and bring up whatever there is in the larder. The latch had not fully caught. He not only did this, but supplied him with an ointment which allayed the swelling of his limbs, and crowned all by furnishing him with a jug of excellent ale. She doesn't understand; she believes he has taken a sudden dislike to her. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave.
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