The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. ” “He is certainly alive,” Anna declared. Or I should say—’ ‘Eugenia,’ cut in Gerald grimly. " "You'd better," replied Quilt.
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