As she put her hat on she determined to lunch at a shop in the Strand, so as to set that other piece of mechanism, her body, into action.

With a brain working and a body working one could keep step with the crowd and never be found out for the hollow machine, lacking the essential thing, that one was conscious of being.
She considered her case as she walked down the Charing Cross Road.

She put to herself a series of questions.

Would she mind, for example, if the wheels of that motor-omnibus passed over her and crushed her to death?
No, not in the least; or an adventure with that disagreeable-looking man hanging about the entrance of the Tube station?
No; she could not conceive fear or excitement.

Did suffering in any form appall her?
No, suffering was neither good nor bad.