The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. " "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. 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. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him. ’ Mademoiselle, who had been nodding in agreement at Roding during the first part of this speech, abruptly turned to face Gerald again.
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