‘All the world,’ she said.

‘Ah no — but some room.’

The tramcar mounted slowly up the hill, where the ugly winter-grey masses of houses looked like a vision of hell that is cold and angular. They sat and looked. Away in the distance was an angry redness of sunset. It was all cold, somehow small, crowded, and like the end of the world.

‘I don’t mind it even then,’ said Ursula, looking at the repulsiveness of it all. ‘It doesn’t concern me.’

‘No more it does,’ he replied, holding her hand. ‘One needn’t see. One goes one’s way. In my world it is sunny and spacious — ’

‘It is, my love, isn’t