She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. There's not his peer among the peerage. Nothing else matters. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. A series of photographs were taken of them: her on the stairs, the couple of them on the stairs, the couple of them in the kitchen, him pinning a red rose corsage with great care and acute sexual frustration.
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