Could you just let me in? I have a surprise for him. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. He will say who it was. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave.
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