He placed his hand restrainingly on my arm. “Is it worth while quarreling with the Wool Boss before you go to the Council?” he asked.
He went on to explain that each industry was autonomous, and had its own boss, elected annually by the workers, in theory, but for life in practice. The Wool Boss, like the other bosses, received one per cent upon the value of every article made by his department.
“At present our social organization is a little upset,” he explained again. “When the Russian troubles are ended we shall resume our normal life. There will be more spaciousness, more freedom ... liberty will be enlarged....”
We went to bed early. I was grateful to discover that the old-fashioned bed had not been sent into limbo. But then the bed, of course, antedates history.
David apologized for mentioning bedtime.
“Nine is the curfew hour,” he explained. “At nine-half the solar light goes out. It is only a temporary restriction until—” Again he checked himself.
I mused so long that the solar light, which flooded the bedroom within and made London a vivid picture in a black frame without, was suddenly turned off, leaving me to grope my way into bed in the darkness. I lay thinking of Esther, who had died so long ago, and I knew that when the first bewilderment of the new life had passed away my loss would seem as unbearable as before. I was as helpless as a savage in this fantastic city. It seemed incredible that I had been groping in the cellar that same morning.
I thought of Elizabeth and the terrified look in her eyes; I heard a city clock strike ten, and, an hour later, one, and it was long before I remembered that ten was midnight; my last resolve was to try to forget my former life and fling myself with all my power into the new. At last I fell asleep, to be awakened by the sun shining into my eyes along a canyon that stretched between the high buildings as far as I could see.
CHAPTER VII
HIDDEN THINGS
It was not until a week had passed that the first stimulus of the amazing life into which I had been plunged abated, leaving me a prey to melancholy reflections. The memory of Esther, which I had tried so hard to put away, began to recur incessantly. I felt shut off from humanity, a survival from a generation whose memory, even, had become legendary.