She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. She wished he could smoke and dull his nerves a little. "I love her already. . Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. She described the Goopes and the Fabians to him, and gave him a sketch of her landlady; and he talked in the most liberal and entertaining way of a modern young woman’s outlook. You're an angel of goodness.
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