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           Everythingistobesoldandpaidfornow;andallthethingsyoumentionnow,WragbyandShipleysellsthemtothepeople,atagoodprofit.Everythingissold.Youdon’tgiveoneheart-beatofrealsympathy.Andbesides,whohastakenawayfromthepeopletheirnaturallifeandmanhood,andgiventhemthisindustrialhorror?Whohasdonethat?’

           ’AndwhatmustIdo?’heasked,green.’Askthemtocomeandpillageme?’

           ’WhyisTevershallsougly,sohideous?Whyaretheirlivessohopeless?’

           ’TheybuilttheirownTevershall,that’spartoftheirdisplayoffreedom.TheybuiltthemselvestheirprettyTevershall,andtheylivetheirownprettylives.Ican’tlivetheirlivesforthem.Everybeetlemustliveitsownlife.’

           ’Butyoumakethemworkforyou.Theylivethelifeofyourcoal-mine.’

           ’Notatall.Everybeetlefindsitsownfood.Notonemanisforcedtoworkforme.

           ’Theirlivesareindustrializedandhopeless,andsoareours,’shecried.

           ’Idon’tthinktheyare.That’sjustaromanticfigureofspeech,arelicoftheswooninganddie-awayromanticism.Youdon’tlookatallahopelessfigurestandingthere,Conniemydear.’

           Whichwastrue.Forherdark-blueeyeswereflashing,hercolourwashotinhercheeks,shelookedfullofarebelliouspassionfarfromthedejectionofhopelessness.Shenoticed,inthetussockyplacesofthegrass,cottonyyoungcowslipsstandingupstillblearedintheirdown.Andshewonderedwithrage,whyitwasshefeltCliffordwassowrong,yetshecouldn’tsayittohim,shecouldnotsayexactlywherehewaswrong.