They are killing themselves to get what they really don’t want
    and don’t need, and are starving for things they could easily
    have by just putting out their hands.

Where life’s struggle is reduced to this kind of thing, there is little compensation, hence we are not surprised to read that: 

Judge Emery was in the state in which of late the end of the day’s work found him—­overwhelmingly fatigued.  He had not an ounce of superfluous energy to answer his wife’s tocsin, while she was almost crying with nervous exhaustion.  That Lydia’s course ran smooth through a thousand complications was not accomplished without an incalculable expenditure of nervous force on her mother’s part.  Dr. Melton had several times of late predicted that he would have his old patient back under his care again.  Judge Emery, remembering this prophecy, was now moved by his wife’s pale agitation to a heart-sickening mixture or apprehension for her and of recollection of his own extreme discomfort whenever she was sick.

Yet in spite of this intense tension, she was unable to stop—­felt she must go on, until finally, a breakdown intervened and she was compelled to lay by.

On another page a friend tells of his great-aunt’s experience: 

’She told me that all through her childhood her family was saving and pulling together to build a fine big house.  They worked along for years until, when she was a young lady, they finally accomplished it; built a big three-story house that was the admiration of the countryside.  Then they moved in.  And it took the womenfolks every minute of their time, and more to keep it clean and in order; it cost as much to keep it up, heated, furnished, repaired, painted and everything the way a fine house should be, as their entire living used to cost.  The fine big grounds they had laid out to go with the mansion took so much time to—­’

Finally Lydia herself becomes awakened, startled as she sees what everybody is trying to make her life become and she bursts out to her sister: 

’I’m just frightened of—­everything—­what everybody expects me to do, and to go on doing all my life, and never have any time but to just hurry faster and faster, so there’ll be more things to hurry about, and never talk about anything but things!’ She began to tremble and look white, and stopped with a desperate effort to control herself, though she burst out at the sight of Mrs. Mortimer’s face of despairing bewilderment.  ’Oh, don’t tell me you don’t see at all what I mean.  I can’t say it!  But you must understand.  Can’t we somehow all stop—­now! And start over again!  You get muslin curtains and not mend your lace ones, and Mother stop fussing about whom to invite to that party—­that’s going to cost more than he can afford, Father says—­it makes me sick to be costing him so much.  And not fuss about having clothes