She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. I know he is dead. ” “He’s utterly, completely hot.
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