"Yes. That," exclaimed Ansell, rising from his couch in violent
excitement. "Where is it? How do you set about finding it? How
long does it take to get there? What does it think? What does it
do? What does it want? Oblige me with specimens of its art and
literature." Silence. "Till you do, my opinions will be as
follows: There is no great world at all, only a little earth, for
ever isolated from the rest of the little solar system. The earth
is full of tiny societies, and Cambridge is one of them. All the
societies are narrow, but some are good and some are bad--just as
one house is beautiful inside and another ugly. Observe the
metaphor of the houses: I am coming back to it. The good
societies say, `I tell you to do this because I am Cambridge.'
The bad ones say, `I tell you to do that because I am the great
world, not because I am 'Peckham,' or `Billingsgate,' or `Park
Lane,' but `because I am the great world.' They lie. And fools
like you listen to them, and believe that they are a thing which
does not exist and never has existed, and confuse 'great,' which
has no meaning whatever, with 'good,' which means salvation. Look
at this great wreath: it'll be dead tomorrow. Look at that good
flower: it'll come up again next year. Now for the other
metaphor. To compare the world to Cambridge is like comparing the
outsides of houses with the inside of a house. No intellectual
effort is needed, no moral result is attained. You only have to
say, 'Oh, what a difference!' and then come indoors again and
exhibit your broadened mind."

"I never shall come indoors again," said Rickie. "That's the
whole point." And his voice began to quiver. "It's well enough
for those who'll get a Fellowship, but in a few weeks I shall go