She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. 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 tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip.
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