Explore "The Tunnel" by Dorothy M. Richardson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The cycling school was out of sight and done with and Miriam hurried down the Chalk Farm Road. If only she could see an omnibus and be in it going anywhere down away from the north. Miss Szigmondy had brought shame and misery upon her, in Chalk Farm. There was nothing there to keep off the pain. Once back she would never think of Chalk Farm again. How could anyone think it was a place, like other places? It was torture even to be in it, going through it. Of course the man had thought I should take on a course of lessons and pay for them. I have to learn everything meanly and shamefully. He thinks I'm getting all I can for nothing. The people in the bus will see me pay my fare and I shall be all right again, going down there. What an awful road, going on and on with nothing in it. I am shamed and helpless; helpless. It's no use to try and do anything. It always exposes me and brings this maddening shame and pain. It's over again this time and I shall soon forget it altogether. I might just as well begin to stop thinking about it now. It's this part of London. It's like Banbury Park. The people are absolutely awful. They take cycling lessons quite coolly. They are not afraid of anybody. To them this part is the best bit of North London. They are that sort of people. They are all alike. All of them would dislike me. I should die of being with them.
Why is it that no one seems to know what north London is? They say it is healthy and open. Perhaps I shall meet someone who feels like I do about it and would get ill and die there. It is not imagination. It is a real feeling that comes upon me.