I don’t know, it’s time that we think about the perfume as coincidental rather than magical,” I say. And oh boy, was that the wrong thing to say because like zombies rising from the grave, Lois and Clea lift from their loungers and stare me down, along with Roxane. “Excuse me?” Clea asks, her fingers pinched together. “What did you just say?” “I believe she stated that the perfume we all have worn when meeting the loves of our lives is just nonsense,” Lois says. “Did I get that right?” “You did,” Roxane adds. Once again, they all fold their arms, and I’m struck with the feeling that no matter
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