She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. “Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power. Manning loved her presented itself to her bloodlessly, stilled from any imaginative quiver or thrill of passion or disgust. A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised. For the most part these were detached people: men practising the plastic arts, young writers, young men in employment, a very large proportion of girls and women—self-supporting women or girls of the student class. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were.
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