These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. \"Do you want a snack?\" \"No thanks. This business of love is the supreme affair in life, it is the woman’s one event and crisis that makes up for all her other restrictions, and I cower—as we all cower—with a blushing and paralyzed mind until it overtakes me!. I must know what new thing has come between us that she should treat me as a lover one day and a monster the next. The other kicked over the traces a bit, made rather a hit with her singing at some of those French places, and went the pace in a mild, ladylike sort of way. She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and sympathy. She would never, never go back. 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.
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