Wells seems something of a hero to the protagonist of High Wages. Mills and mines mills and mines all the way to Manchester, and the brick, the stone, the grass, the very air deadened down to a general drab by the insidious filter of soot. Monstrous slag-heaps, like ranges in a burnt-out hell stretches of waste land rubbed bare to the gritty earth parallel rows of back-to-back dwellings great blocks of mill dwellings, the chimneys belching smoke as thick and black as eternal night itself upstanding skeletons of wheels and pulleys. They had made it but they could not, like God, look and see that it was good. They did well to avert their eyes from the landscape they had made. She could see the occupants of the first-class carriages playing cards, or fallen into unlovely sleep.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |