It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. Figg?" asked Gay. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. \" His brown eyes were tired and full of concern.
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