It was what the French called, with a pregnant intonation, la
province. This--being said, there was nothing else to say.
Bursley, of course, was in the provinces; Bursley must, in the
nature of things, be typically provincial. But in her mind it had
always been differentiated from the common province; it had always
had an air, a distinction, and especially St. Luke's Square! That
illusion was now gone. Still, the alteration was not wholly in
herself; it was not wholly subjective. The Square really had
changed for the worse; it might not be smaller, but it had
deteriorated. As a centre of commerce it had assuredly approached
very near to death. On a Saturday morning thirty years ago it
would have been covered with linen-roofed stalls, and chattering
country-folk, and the stir of bargains. Now, Saturday morning was
like any other morning in the Square, and the glass-roof of St.
Luke's market in Wedgwood Street, which she could see from her
window, echoed to the sounds of noisy commerce. In that instance
business had simply moved a few yards to the east; but Sophia
knew, from hints in Constance's letters and in her talk, that
business in general had moved more than a few yards, it had moved
a couple of miles--to arrogant and pushing Hanbridge, with its
electric light and its theatres and its big, advertising shops.
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