She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. The likeness was ridiculous. The man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the bystanders; but they could not make out who had uttered it. “Well, well, Martin. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made.
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