She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. 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. “I wonder,” said Ramage, “that more girls don’t think as you do and want to strike out in the world. This too shall pass. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. Then they would leave and she would go back to being alone. Leastways, not on your own.
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