’ Gerald opened his eyes at her. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. 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. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. You on the other hand have to come to London, a worker, with the responsibility of life upon your own shoulders—and in addition all the burden of her follies.
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