What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. It seems to me a woman’s duty to be beautiful, to BE beautiful and to behave beautifully, and politics are by their very nature ugly.
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