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. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. I miss her a lot. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. That was Leonardo’s motto. After all, she only LOOKED a woman. It was the moment for smiles. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. Its heroes never had daughters, they borrowed other people’s.
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