The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. "Much better," said Mrs. She remained stonily in the middle of the hallway until the spinsters' door shut them from view … for ever. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter.
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