“I must live, you know. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. Goopes disconcerted the Alderman a little by abruptly challenging the roguish-looking young man in the orange tie (who, it seemed, was the assistant editor of New Ideas) upon a critique of Nietzsche and Tolstoy that had appeared in his paper, in which doubts had been cast upon the perfect sincerity of the latter. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. One was in the Indian Civil Service and one in the rapidly developing motor business. Laughed at me, then. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. "You are all right?"—anxiously.
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