She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. He was now a sophomore at Lincoln, Lucy a Junior, and Shari a Senior. Never mind. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. Unless he has dealings with the devil, he could never have done this alone. She shook her head. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. Sir John hesitated, and then continued. Martha had the square look of solid English citizenry, which was not deceiving.
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