The moment they wore out, their wooden souls were taken from them and their bodies given to the poor, whilst--in accordance with that theory, to hear a course of lectures on which a scattered thought was even now inviting her--the wooden souls migrated instantly to other leathern bodies.
Looking at that polished row of boots, Cecilia felt lonely and unsatisfied.

Stephen worked in the Law Courts, Thyme worked at Art; both were doing something definite.

She alone, it seemed, had to wait at home, and order dinner, answer letters, shop, pay calls, and do a dozen things that failed to stop her thoughts from dwelling on that woman's tale.

She was not often conscious of the nature of her life, so like the lives of many hundred women in this London, which she said she could not stand, but which she stood very well.

As a rule, with practical good sense, she kept her doubting eyes fixed friendlily on every little phase in turn, enjoying well enough fitting the Chinese puzzle of her scattered thoughts, setting out on each small adventure with a certain cautious zest, and taking Stephen with her as far as he allowed.