There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. 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. The swellings appeared under her arms and a general panic spread through the Palazzo. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. Sebastian rose from the tomb. “Do you believe me now?” She asked. "I must have dropped it when I took out my note-book. If we do not begin—” She had come to a resolution. . .
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