She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. Not so bad. There was a hint of tears in her voice. " "I expect no commiseration," returned Mrs. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. Also he had said—laughing in that way with his eyes which made a flutter in her chest— that Prudence will find an Englishman to marry her.
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