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The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. ’ ‘Ain’t you in a rage?’ asked the captain. Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. 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.
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