She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. Dizziness overcame him like anesthetic and he slept. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. " "Not your only chance, Thames," returned Jack, in the same undertone; "but your best. " "But why didn't you oppose him?" "I had to let him have his way, else he might not have returned safely.
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