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. For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's. “Who can tell?” she said. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. And, also, she wanted to borrow that money. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk.
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