What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. 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. You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. “I can get you,” Mr.
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