Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. "So the wheelman told you? I've always spoken it, though I can neither read nor write it. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. ” He seemed bored. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him.
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