I went to her rooms to-night. I am certainly no ghost. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. Lucy's grin faded. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. 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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