He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. . ’ ‘Ain’t it? Want me to give you some time with her? Not that I think she’ll tell you anything. Hobson, the Phys. It’s not like we’re getting married. " "Hoddy," she repeated. His hug became an embrace. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. And empty. 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. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. .
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