” Lucy’s eyes smiled and a weary closed lipped smile arose on her face. This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recross streets. They found a river pool and disrobed together as they had for hundreds of years. Here, turnkey. And she felt that if she went home it was imperative to pay. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. She became more and more alive, not so much to a system of ideas as to a big diffused impulse toward change, to a great discontent with and criticism of life as it is lived, to a clamorous confusion of ideas for reconstruction—reconstruction of the methods of business, of economic development, of the rules of property, of the status of children, of the clothing and feeding and teaching of every one; she developed a quite exaggerated consciousness of a multitude of people going about the swarming spaces of London with their minds full, their talk and gestures full, their very clothing charged with the suggestion of the urgency of this pervasive project of alteration. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade.
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