It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. “Damn”. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. And the fences are down for good. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. Until this instant, he discovered, he had thought of Melusine’s plan only in a nebulous fashion, a naïve girl’s dream. One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him.
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