She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. He’s a footman who works for the nuns and has taken up the cudgels on her behalf. Again silence. 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. "What's the matter?" repeated Mrs.
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