There's this coat, you see—a voluminous woolen gentleman's overcoat of mid to late 19th-century Russian vintage with astrakhan cuffs and collar, now worn, tattered, and conspicuously malodorous — bequeathed to our narrator in his mid-50s, by his Uncle Philip. Matty (the character) makes frequent reference to the coat's — um, fragrance, but never describes this feature in detail, leading us to anticipate a later revelation concerning the secret of its singular redolence. We don't get one, but, as Philip himself would say, "is not the point, is not the point."
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