Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. You are always doing something for nothing, and that is why I love you. I know I am undeserving of your bounty; but if I were to tell you what hardships I have undergone—to what frightful extremities I have been reduced—and to what infamy I have submitted, to earn a scanty subsistence for this child's sake, —if you could feel what it is to stand alone in the world as I do, bereft of all who have ever loved me, and shunned by all who have ever known me, except the worthless and the wretched,—if you knew (and Heaven grant you may be spared the knowledge!) how much affliction sharpens love, and how much more dear to me my child has become for every sacrifice I have made for him,—if you were told all this, you would, I am sure, pity rather than reproach me, because I cannot at once consent to a separation, which I feel would break my heart. You’re never going to believe this, by the way. "Put your arms about me. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon.
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