Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. “I wanted to go to an art-student ball of which he disapproved. She turned back into the hall. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave.
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