The tramcar mounted slowly up the hill, where the ugly winter-grey masses of houses looked like a vision of hell that is cold and angular. They sat and looked. Away in the distance was an angry redness of sunset. It was all cold, somehow small, crowded, and like the end of the world.
“I don’t mind it even then,” said Ursula, looking at the repulsiveness of it all. “It doesn’t concern me.”
“No more it does,” he replied, holding her hand. “One needn’t see. One goes one’s way. In my world it is sunny and spacious—”
“It is, my love, isn’t it?” she cried, hugging near to him on the top of the tramcar, so that the other passengers stared at them.
“And we will wander about on the face of the earth,” he said, “and we’ll look at the world beyond just this bit.”
There was a long silence. Her face was radiant like gold, as she sat thinking.
“I don’t want to inherit the earth,” she said. “I don’t want to inherit anything.”
He closed his hand over hers.
“Neither do I. I want to be disinherited.”
She clasped his fingers closely.