“Yes; to escape from it altogether!” Wolf went on. “I don’t know why that should amuse you, Valley.” As he spoke he became aware of something burning at the back of the house. “Dimity must be burning refuse⁠ ⁠… some sort of greenery,” he thought. “It’s like the smell of dead flowers. It’s like a bonfire of dead crocuses!”

This aromatic smoke, poignant and penetrating, floating on the air, gave him a very queer twinge. His nerves reached out invisible tendrils to respond to it; but under the disturbed contact between his sensations and his enjoyment of his sensations , this motion of response only caused him tantalizing discomfort. It caused him, indeed, a discomfort of so peculiar a kind, that he prolonged his silence almost rudely, while he gave way to it. It was a sharp, thin, long-drawn-out sensation, like some erotic agitation that is motiveless, meaningless, irritating.