But all normal humans smelled wonderful to her, even dirty ones. “I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. It had been easy to steal. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. Gerald raised his cockaded hat, and smiled. Englishmen also certainly.
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