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. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. . She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. ’ ‘Lucky indeed,’ answered Gerald, glancing at the pair again. I hung around Harvard a little when you were there. I will not be sent away. So he resolved to try another tack. He had not remembered her as looking so small.
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