And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. “Come,” she said. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. " "Perhaps I'm too tired to plan for to-morrow. The signal of distress was evidently understood. . . “Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. .
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