She hated living like that. “It’s because I mean to send it back altogether,” she said. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. Gerald had himself told her that this Prudence will present her to society as Melusine Charvill. Don’t you think? Tum, tay, tum, tay. "Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant. 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. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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