’ ‘Get going, then,’ Trodger told his men. Though they do, in secret, I believe. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist. 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 saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. It was dawn: Cathy would soon be off to the restaurant and Larry off to paint a house. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him.
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