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But all normal humans smelled wonderful to her, even dirty ones. She started forward. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. He stood outside of the car, bewildered, as she walked up to the BMW’s front bumper. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. She felt she must suffocate if these men did not put her down, and for a time they would not put her down. We shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across.
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