Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that. Consent to become my wife, and do not compel me to have recourse to violence to effect my purpose, and I will spare your son. 144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally.
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