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. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. ‘Imbecile. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. . ” Michelle said, tossing her glossy ponytail defiantly. I must finish it at home. ” For a time she sat on a rail before leaving the road for the downland turf.
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