" The clock tinkled ten. ” He leaned back for his soup. Lucy collapsed to the floor in a sob. Give him this letter, child, and bid him take it to the Lodge at Newgate without loss of time. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. ‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. 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. “So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled.
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