Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. Then she went into the office. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. “Or I know another one who wears cologne. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. The smell assaulted them even before they entered the restaurant, greasy and savory.
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