It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. \"Today's Friday, isn't it?\" Lucy remembered. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. " "Your own was equally so," said Jackson ironically. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence.
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