Explore "Life, the Interpreter" by Phyllis Bottome on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"This cold, clay clod was man's heart: / Crumble it, and what comes next? -Is it God?"
MURIEL woke up to a new poverty and an extra ten thousand a year. The latter scarcely passed through her mind, but the former made her terribly lonely. Now there seemed nothing left, and the world a vast cold place void of personality.