My goodness gracious. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. Further on, there was a small chandler's shop, where Jack observed an old woman seated at the counter, attended by a little girl. 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. ‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly. He barely shook the rose petals from her hair. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified.
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