He had lived among these terrible conditions all his life, proud of
the personal security that civilisation provided, but he had never
before viewed it from outside, as now he suddenly did. A spiritual
being, a man, lives in a city as in a state of siege among his own
kind. It was deplorable, it was incredible. In little Bourcelles, a
mountain village most would describe pityingly as half civilised and
out of the world, there was safety and joy and freedom as of the
universe.... His heart contracted as he thus abruptly realised the
distressing contrast. Although a city is a unit, all classes neatly
linked together by laws and by-laws, by County Councils, Parliaments,
and the like, the spirit of brotherhood was a mockery and a sham.
There is organised charity, but there is not--Charity. In a London
Square he could not ring the bell and ask for a glass of milk.... In
Bourcelles he would walk into any house, since there were no bells,
and sit down to an entire meal!
He laughed as the absurd comparison darted across his mind, for he
recognised the foolish exaggeration in it; but behind the laughter
flamed the astonishing truth. In Bourcelles, in a few weeks, he had
found a bigger, richer life than all London had supplied to him in
twenty years; he had found wings, inspiration, love, and happiness; he
had found the universe.
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