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An Unsocial Socialist - George Bernard Shaw

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An Unsocial Socialist

by George Bernard Shaw

CHAPTER I

In the dusk of an October evening, a sensible looking woman of
forty came out through an oaken door to a broad landing on the
first floor of an old English country-house. A braid of her hair
had fallen forward as if she had been stooping over book or pen;
and she stood for a moment to smooth it, and to gaze
contemplatively--not in the least sentimentally--through the
tall,
narrow window. The sun was setting, but its glories were at the
other side of the house; for this window looked eastward, where
the landscape of sheepwalks and pasture land was sobering at the
approach of darkness.

The lady, like one to whom silence and quiet were luxuries,
lingered on the landing for some time. Then she turned towards
another door, on which was inscribed, in white letters, Class
Room No. 6. Arrested by a whispering above, she paused in the
doorway, and looked up the stairs along a broad smooth handrail
that swept round in an unbroken curve at each landing, forming an
inclined plane from the top to the bottom of the house.

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