A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. " "Zounds!" exclaimed Wood; "it's my old master-key.
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