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'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. “I’m inclined to think, Stanley, myself that as a matter of fact it was the expurgated Romeo and Juliet did the mischief. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. And for me there is only one treasure-house. She felt his erection against her naked thigh. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun.
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