Viewed under certain aspects, it
seemed indeed that the Five Towns, in the week-end desertion of its
sordid factories, was reaching out after the higher life, the subtler
life, the more elegant life of greater communities; but the little
crowds and the little shops of Bursley market-place were nevertheless
a proof that a tolerable number of people were still mainly interested
in the primitive elemental enterprise of keeping stomachs filled and
skins warm, and had no thought beyond it. In Bursley market-place the
week's labour was being translated into food and drink and clothing by
experts who could distinguish infallibly between elevenpence-halfpenny
and a shilling. Rachel was such an expert. She forced her thoughts
down to the familiar, sane, safe subject of shopping, though to-night
her errands were of the simplest description, requiring no brains. But
she could not hold her thoughts. A voice was continually whispering to
her--not Louis Fores' voice, but a voice within herself, that she had
never clearly heard before. Alternatively she scorned it and trembled
at it.
She stopped in front of the huge window of Wason's Provision Emporium.
"Is this the first house of call?" asked Louis airily, swinging the
reticule and his stick together.
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