"I've got to see him; but I'll be reasonable. She was poor. “He can’t be more than thirty. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. His glasses were gone. 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 mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. \"Borrowed a pencil. But it was clear she was in no mood for Teddys. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands.
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