"It's all wrong, doctor," she said at last. "It's too one-sided."
"Yes. And look at the Greeks now--"
She turned to him with a quick, birdlike glance.
"Do you know what I think?" she said.
"Not quite all of it," said the doctor, watching her face, and thinking
how incongruous it looked in Regent Street.
"Well, I think biology's one of the beasts we've to kill before God
walks along us. So there! Tropical forests--maggots--women," she added,
and the doctor laughed outright.
The chief impression she got of London was its aimlessness. It reminded
her irresistibly of an ant-hill she had seen disturbed once. Myriads of
tiny creatures had scurried passionately, exhaustingly, after each other
to and fro, no whence and no whither; the people thronging out of shops
and offices at dusk frightened her: there seemed so many of them, and,
looking at their tired, strained faces and their unkingly way of
hurrying along, uninterested and uninteresting save in getting to their
destination, it seemed to her that they were not thinking of ever
"towering": when Dr. Angus reminded her that they were so busy keeping
alive that they had no time to think how and why they were alive at all,
she was plunged into black depression; at home she had only had less
than a hundred people and a few beasts about the farm to pity.
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