His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. I told you no good would come of it. “And yet in a very few weeks I shall have done with it all. 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. And I am grateful to you. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. The spring can't be opened on this side.
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