小说园

第82部分（第3页）

itself　was　a　little；　slovenly　laboratory　for　the　factory。

A　harsh　and　ugly　disillusion　came　over　her　again；　the　same

darkness　and　bitter　gloom　from　which　she　was　never　safe　now；　the

realization　of　the　permanent　substratum　of　ugliness　under

everything。　As　she　came　to　the　college　in　the　afternoon；　the

lawns　were　frothed　with　daisies；　the　lime　trees　hung　tender　and

sunlit　and　green；　and　oh；　the　deep；　white　froth　of　the　daisies

was　anguish　to　see。

For　inside；　inside　the　college；　she　knew　she　must　enter　the

sham　workshop。　All　the　while；　it　was　a　sham　store；　a　sham

warehouse；　with　a　single　motive　of　material　gain；　and　no

productivity。　It　pretended　to　exist　by　the　religious　virtue　of

knowledge。　But　the　religious　virtue　of　knowledge　was　bee　a

flunkey　to　the　god　of　material　success。

A　sort　of　inertia　came　over　her。　Mechanically；　from　habit；

she　went　on　with　her　studies。　But　it　was　almost　hopeless。　She

could　scarcely　attend　to　anything。　At　the　Anglo…Saxon　lecture　in

the　afternoon；　she　sat　looking　down；　out　of　the　window；　hearing

no　word；　of　Beowulf　or　of　anything　else。　Down　below；　in　the

street；　the　sunny　grey　pavement　went　beside　the　palisade。　A

woman　in　a　pink　frock；　with　a　scarlet　sunshade；　crossed　the

road；　a　little　white　dog　running　like　a　fleck　of　light　about

her。　The　woman　with　the　scarlet　sunshade　came　over　the　road；　a

lilt　in　her　walk；　a　little　shadow　attending　her。　Ursula　watched

spell…bound。　The　woman　with　the　scarlet　sunshade　and　the

flickering　terrier　was　gone……and　whither？　Whither？

In　what　world　of　reality　was　the　woman　in　the　pink　dress

walking？　To　what　warehouse　of　dead　unreality　was　she　herself

confined？

What　good　was　this　place；　this　college？　What　good　was

Anglo…Saxon；　when　one　only　learned　it　in　order　to　answer

examination　questions；　in　order　that　one　should　have　a　higher

mercial　value　later　on？　She　was　sick　with　this　long　service

at　the　inner　mercial　shrine。　Yet　what　else　was　there？　Was

life　all　this；　and　this　only？　Everywhere；　everything　was　debased

to　the　same　service。　Everything　went　to　produce　vulgar　things；

to　encumber　material　life。

Suddenly　she　threw　over　French。　She　would　take　honours　in

botany。　This　was　the　one　study　that　lived　for　her。　She　had

entered　into　the　lives　of　the　plants。　She　was　fascinated　by　the