’ The woman shrugged helpless shoulders, looking to her husband. “I see the pointer,” she said. 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. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. One of these was a classification of women into women who are and women who are not hostile to men. He had an objective now. Ten days should see you on your feet. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket.
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