MacIan leant his white and rather weary face back upon the
cushions in order to speak up through the open door.

"Mr. Turnbull," he said, "I have nothing to add to what I have
said before. It is strongly borne in upon me that you and I, the
sole occupants of this runaway cab, are at this moment the two
most important people in London, possibly in Europe. I have been
looking at all the streets as we went past, I have been looking
at all the shops as we went past, I have been looking at all the
churches as we went past. At first, I felt a little dazed with
the vastness of it all. I could not understand what it all meant.
But now I know exactly what it all means. It means us. This whole
civilization is only a dream. You and I are the realities."

"Religious symbolism," said Mr. Turnbull, through the trap, "does
not, as you are probably aware, appeal ordinarily to thinkers of
the school to which I belong. But in symbolism as you use it in
this instance, I must, I think, concede a certain truth. We
_must_ fight this thing out somewhere; because, as you truly say,
we have found each other's reality. We _must_ kill each other--or
convert each other. I used to think all Christians were
hypocrites, and I felt quite mildly towards them really. But I
know you are sincere--and my soul is mad against you. In the same
way you used, I suppose, to think that all atheists thought
atheism would leave them free for immorality--and yet in your
heart you tolerated them entirely. Now you _know_ that I am an
honest man, and you are mad against me, as I am against you. Yes,
that's it. You can't be angry with bad men. But a good man in the
wrong--why one thirsts for his blood. Yes, you open for me a