She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. She could not see clearly. He had little money about him, and unless friends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. But all normal humans smelled wonderful to her, even dirty ones.
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