‘As for you—’ ‘Do not address me. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. But I was portentous, I can assure you.
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