soaring whirl of machinery in motion, of moving pavements and flying
omnibuses; of screaming gramophones and standardized "homes": a city
where Electricity was King and man its soulless slave. But a city of
peace, of restful spaces, of leisured men and women; a city of fine
streets and pleasant houses, where each could live his own life, learning
freedom, individuality; a city of noble schools; of workshops that should
be worthy of labour, filled with light and air; smoke and filth driven
from the land: science, no longer bound to commercialism, having
discovered cleaner forces; a city of gay playgrounds where children
should learn laughter; of leafy walks where the creatures of the wood and
field should be as welcome guests helping to teach sympathy and
kindliness: a city of music, of colour, of gladness. Beauty worshipped
as religion; ugliness banished as a sin: no ugly slums, no ugly cruelty,
no slatternly women and brutalized men, no ugly, sobbing children; no
ugly vice flaunting in every highway its insult to humanity: a city clad
in beauty as with a living garment where God should walk with man.

She had reached a neighbourhood of narrow, crowded streets. The women
were mostly without hats; and swarthy men, rolling cigarettes, lounged
against doorways. The place had a quaint foreign flavour. Tiny cafes,
filled with smoke and noise, and clean, inviting restaurants abounded.
She was feeling hungry, and, choosing one the door of which stood open,
revealing white tablecloths and a pleasant air of cheerfulness, she
entered. It was late and the tables were crowded. Only at one, in a far
corner, could she detect a vacant place, opposite to a slight, pretty-
looking girl very quietly dressed. She made her way across and the girl,
anticipating her request, welcomed her with a smile. They ate for a
while in silence, divided only by the narrow table, their heads, when
they leant forward, almost touching. Joan noticed the short, white
hands, the fragrance of some delicate scent. There was something odd