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. Then she burst into a peal of laughter. Above her head was an aura of white fire. Diane Vorsack tried to disguise the fact that she was livid, her daughter’s buffoonery having driven off the prestigious dinner guests before the after-dinner drinks could be served. But then he began to take steps, and, at last, strides to something more and more like predominance. I was the last on board.
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