Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. Was it ruined?’ ‘But yes, it was entirely ruined. . But most of all, I wanted to love. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. There are way-stations—even terminals.
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