“Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. \"So did I. "I didn't carry you off from old Wood to kill you, but to wed you. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. Give me this picture. Madame shrugged. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. She realized that with a pang of disgust and horror.
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