His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. I had to sell out, you see, when my father died, for the estate is in my hands. What's it like, Joan?" "It's a small key, with curiously-fashioned wards. ” The tall young man dropped his eye-glass and smiled. 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. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. His age was not far from fifty. The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. You go home and live on the G.
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