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His real mistress was the machine, and the real mistress of

Winifred was the machine She too, Winifred, worshipped the

impure abstraction, the mechanisms of matter There, there, in

the machine, in service of the radation of hu There, in theor dead, in its service,

did she achieve her consummation and her perfect unison, her

i up in Ursula's heart If she could she would

s of

the great machine If she could destroy the colliery, and iston out of work, she would do it Let therub in the earth for roots, rather than serve such a

Moloch as this

She hated her Uncle Toer They went

down to the su

a few trees, at the end of a tiny garden, on the edge of a

field Her Uncle Tom and Winifred seemed to jeer at her, to

cheapen her She was ive way

Her coldness for Winifred should never cease She kneas

over between thely movements in her

mistress, she saw a clayey, inert, unquickened flesh, that

rereat prehistoric lizards One day her Uncle

To