Sasha could smell the smoke from a wood-burning stove ahead.
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If walls could talk, Gibbs would certainly be sacked.
Not that he failed to execute his tasks with utmost discretion.
And he always tended to ailing Lord Mortimer’s needs with tact and haste.
But on certain evenings, when everyone had retired,
Gibbs polished knives, forks, and spoons --
silverware he traded to pay his mother’s debts.
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