" "There isn't an angel in heaven, Ruth, purer or sweeter than you are. “We have to be— modern. What!—add another drop to her cup? Who knows? Any day they may find me. Just dreamed—and ran away even from my dreams. ” She slipped it on her finger, and added, in a voice she tried to make matter-of-fact: “It was given to me last week. What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. She hoped fervently that Martin had not divulged his crush to Brown. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. But, as you perceive, I brought it away with me. There all the loose characters thronged, assignations were openly made, and the spectators diverted themselves with the vagaries of its miserable inhabitants. 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.
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