As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. His eyes never left her face. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. I should like to know how it is concerned with Sir John Ferringhall, and how my presence intervenes. 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.
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