’ ‘For God’s sake, don’t accuse her of murder,’ begged Gerald, retrieving the lady’s hat and handing it to her, ‘or she’ll be challenging me to a duel again. Still, that leaves over a million shrines short, not reckoning widows who re-marry. 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. " "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table.
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