McClintock liked it. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. 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. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “I don’t understand this change in you.
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