She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. “What’s odd?” “Oh, everything!” She shivered, and went to the fire and poked it. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. CHAPTER XVII After the Ten Commandments have been spoken, conscience becomes less something inherent than something acquired.
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