Yet the bicycle wouldn't be spinning from Streatham to Croydon by itself.
So we may as well settle down to the little god in the machine.

We may as well call it the individual soul, and leave it there.

It's as far as the bicycle would ever get, if it had to define Mademoiselle.

But be sure the bicycle would not deny the existence of the young miss who seats herself in the saddle.

Not like us, who try to pretend there is no one in the saddle.