Solomon Smith received something very like a rebuff. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. “I don’t see there’s any getting away from the fact that you and I love each other,” he said, slowly. All at once he saw a way out of the threatening doldrums. My will never faltered. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. .
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