In the end she would go into Parliament. It would be bound to come soon,
the woman's vote. And after that the opening of all doors would follow.
She would wear her college robes. It would be far more fitting than a
succession of flimsy frocks that would have no meaning in them. What
pity it was that the art of dressing--its relation to life--was not
better understood. What beauty-hating devil had prompted the workers to
discard their characteristic costumes that had been both beautiful and
serviceable for these hateful slop-shop clothes that made them look like
walking scarecrows. Why had the coming of Democracy coincided seemingly
with the spread of ugliness: dull towns, mean streets, paper-strewn
parks, corrugated iron roofs, Christian chapels that would be an insult
to a heathen idol; hideous factories (Why need they be hideous!); chimney-
pot hats, baggy trousers, vulgar advertisements, stupid fashions for
women that spoilt every line of their figure: dinginess, drabness,
monotony everywhere. It was ugliness that was strangling the soul of the
people; stealing from them all dignity, all self-respect, all honour for
one another; robbing them of hope, of reverence, of joy in life.
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