How much Mary knew is a mystery. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. He said that for him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether bad. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner.
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