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Letusgobacktogether,overthebridge,undertheelmtrees,tomyroom,where,withwallsroundusandredsergecurtainsdrawn,wecanshutoutthesedistractingvoices,scentsandsavoursoflimetrees,andotherlives;thesepertshop-girls,disdainfullytripping,theseshuffling,heavy-ladenoldwomen;thesefurtiveglimpsesofsomevagueandvanishingfigure--itmightbeJinny,itmightbeSusan,orwasthatRhodadisappearingdowntheavenue?Again,fromsomeslighttwitchIguessyourfeeling;Ihaveescapedyou;Ihavegonebuzzinglikeaswarmofbees,endlesslyvagrant,withnoneofyourpoweroffixingremorselesslyuponasingleobject.ButIwillreturn.’
’Whentherearebuildingslikethese,’saidNeville,’Icannotendurethatthereshouldbeshop-girls.Theirtitter,theirgossip,offendsme;breaksintomystillness,andnudgesme,inmomentsofpurestexultation,torememberourdegradation.
’Butnowwehaveregainedourterritoryafterthatbriefbrushwiththebicyclesandthelimescentandthevanishingfiguresinthedistractedstreet.Herewearemastersoftranquillityandorder;inheritorsofproudtradition.Thelightsarebeginningtomakeyellowslitsacrossthesquare.Mistsfromtheriverarefillingtheseancientspaces.Theycling,gently,tothehoarystone.Theleavesnowarethickincountrylanes,sheepcoughinthedampfields;buthereinyourroomwearedry.Wetalkprivately.Thefireleapsandsinks,makingsomeknobbright.
’YouhavebeenreadingByron.Youhavebeenmarkingthepassagesthatseemtoapproveofyourowncharacter.
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