But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. 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. You tell me he didn't like the stuff. . Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you.
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