Woollett isn't sure it ought to enjoy.

If it were it would.

But it hasn't, poor thing," Strether continued, "any one to show it how.

It's not like me.

I have somebody." They had stopped, in the afternoon sunshine--constantly pausing, in their stroll, for the sharper sense of what they saw--and Strether rested on one of the high sides of the old stony groove of the little rampart.