She shook her head, almost breaking a smile. With a little more meat on him, he would be handsome. “But, you see, appearances are very much against me. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. Besides, she will do no such thing. He made it brief. She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. 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.
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