She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. "And me," added Mrs. But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain.
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