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. His face was wreathed in smiles, his beringed hand was cordially outstretched. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you.
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