Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man. 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. “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the window. He died in the war. He stopped short with a little exclamation of surprise.
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