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. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. “I feared we might have a fog. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. Ah, Thierry and Poussaint, if my memory serves me.
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