but materialism: mechanism, the very soul of materialism.’

Ursula was subdued into angry silence. She did not heed what he said. She was rebelling against something else.

‘And I hate your past. I’m sick of it,’ she cried. ‘I believe I even hate that old chair, though it IS beautiful. It isn’t MY sort of beauty. I wish it had been smashed up when its day was over, not left to preach the beloved past to us. I’m sick of the beloved past.’

‘Not so sick as I am of the accursed present,’ he said.

‘Yes, just the same. I hate the present — but I don’t want the past to take its place — I don’t want that old chair.’