I’m not mad that he has eyes for you instead of me, not mad at all. I want you to be my lover. 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. I never have known you. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. And she defies me.
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