“Do you live down here, in this part of the city?” I asked.
No, he boarded in Fowler Street. I knew it as in a district given over to the small houses of working-men.
“I suppose you are still a socialist.”
“I suppose I am,” he admitted, and added, “at any rate, that is as near as you can get to it.”
“Isn't it fairly definite?”
“Fairly, if my notions are taken in general as the antithesis of what you fellows believe.”
“The abolition of property, for instance.”
“The abolition of too much property.”
“What do you mean by 'too much'?”
“When it ceases to be real to a man, when it represents more than his need, when it drives him and he becomes a slave to it.”