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An Unsocial Socialistby George Bernard ShawCHAPTER IIn the dusk of an October evening, a sensible looking woman offorty came out through an oaken door to a broad landing on thefirst floor of an old English country-house. A braid of her hairhad fallen forward as if she had been stooping over book or pen;and she stood for a moment to smooth it, and to gazecontemplativelynot in the least sentimentallythrough thetall,narrow window. The sun was setting, but its glories were at theother side of the ho