“It’s the spring,” he said. " Then he became merciful. I had to ask Mr. 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. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. ’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily.
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