Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. Wait a moment. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things.
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