And yet they feel things

Following these thoughts she looked up and said: 　　"And there's a sort of beauty in it--there they are at Richmondat this very moment building things up. They're all wrong,perhaps, but there's a sort of beauty in it," she repeated. 　　"It's so unconscious, so modest. And yet they feel things. 　　They do mind if people die. Old spinsters are always doing things. 　　I don't quite know what they do. Only that was what I felt when Ilived with them. It was very real."She reviewed their little journeys to and fro, to Walworth,to charwomen with bad legs, to meetings for this and that,their minute acts of charity and unselfishness which floweredpunctually from a definite view of what they ought to do,their friendships, their tastes and habits; she saw all these thingslike grains of sand falling, falling through innumerable days,making an atmosphere and building up a solid mass, a background. 　　Hewet observed her as she considered this. 　　"Were you happy?" he demanded. 　　Again she had become absorbed in something else, and he calledher back to an unusually vivid consciousness of herself. 　　"I was both," she replied. "I was happy and I was miserable. 　　You've no conception what it's like--to be a young woman."She looked straight at him. "There are terrors and agonies,"she said, keeping her eye on him as if to detect the slightest hintof laughter. 　　"I can believe it," he said. He returned her look with perfect sincerity. 　　"Women one sees in the streets," she said. 　　"Prostitutes?""Men kissing one."He nodded his head. 　　"You were never told?"She shook her head.

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