Explore "The Long Run" by Edith Wharton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"The Muse? " (said Merrick, refilling my glass and stooping to pat the terrier as he went back to his chair) -- "well, you've met the Muse in the little volume of sonnets you used to like; and you've met the woman too, and you used to like _her_; though you didn't know her when you saw her the other evening.
"No, I won't ask you how she struck you when you talked to her: I know. She struck you like that stuff I gave you to read last night. She's conformed -- I've conformed -- the mills have caught us and ground us: ground us, oh, exceedingly small!