They want me to stay with them,
and as they're in the thick of all the conspiracies and anarchists, I've
a good mind to stop on my way home. It sounds too thrilling." She wanted
to make Rachel see how thrilling it was. "My friend knows a girl of
fifteen who's been sent to Siberia for life merely because they caught
her addressing a letter to an anarchist. And the letter wasn't from her,
either. I'd give all I have in the world to help on a revolution against
the Russian government, and it's bound to come."
She looked from Rachel to Terence. They were both a little touched by
the sight of her remembering how lately they had been listening to evil
words about her, and Terence asked her what her scheme was, and she
explained that she was going to found a club--a club for doing things,
really doing them. She became very animated, as she talked on and on,
for she professed herself certain that if once twenty people--no, ten
would be enough if they were keen--set about doing things instead of
talking about doing them, they could abolish almost every evil that
exists. It was brains that were needed. If only people with brains--of
course they would want a room, a nice room, in Bloomsbury preferably,
where they could meet once a week. . . .
As she talked Terence could see the traces of fading youth in her face,
the lines that were being drawn by talk and excitement round her mouth
and eyes, but he did not pity her; looking into those bright, rather
hard, and very courageous eyes, he saw that she did not pity herself,
or feel any desire to exchange her own life for the more refined and
orderly lives of people like himself and St.
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