He laughed. “Walking to Gainsford Street this morning, I could smell every harvest in the entire country. The very air was singing with it. And the trees have all found their golden mark, Quincy, hovering in the perfection of their year’s work.” “Which is?” Her voice sounded less interested than she was. Arch opened his eyes. “To offer one day of blazing, unrivaled glory to all who pass beneath.” The door opened just then, the bell adding sound to Arch’s internal poetry. He gave Quincy a dimpled smile as he went into his office. And on the heels of the customer came the smell of a city
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