” She looked at him, pleading, miserable in her fancy gown. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. ‘Italian adventurer,’ explained her fiance briefly. 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. His arms released from his 68 sides, he lifted them around her in a light embrace.
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