Out to the open we go, to windy freedom
and trackless ways. Light after light goes down. England and the
Kingdom, Britain and the Empire, the old prides and the old devotions,
glide abeam, astern, sink down upon the horizon, pass--pass. The river
passes--London passes, England passes...
III
This is the note I have tried to emphasise, the note that sounds clear
in my mind when I think of anything beyond the purely personal aspects
of my story.
It is a note of crumbling and confusion, of change and seemingly aimless
swelling, of a bubbling up and medley of futile loves and sorrows.
But through the confusion sounds another note. Through the confusion
something drives, something that is at once human achievement and the
most inhuman of all existing things. Something comes out of it....
How can I express the values of a thing at once so essential and so
immaterial. It is something that calls upon such men as I with an
irresistible appeal.
I have figured it in my last section by the symbol of my destroyer,
stark and swift, irrelevant to most human interests.
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