Their scent, as she smelled it, was so much kinder than he; it almost made her cry.
"You wheedle the soul out of things," he said.

"I would never wheedle--at any rate, I'd go straight." He scarcely knew what he was saying.

These things came from him mechanically.

She looked at him.

His body seemed one weapon, firm and hard against her.
"You're always begging things to love you," he said, "as if you were a beggar for love.