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‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. 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. Supper was over.
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