forced into a uniform by iron necessity, has been taken from me, out of
fear that I might dislodge a few mass murderers from their security and
send them as a warning example down to their victims.

So I must stay here, as a seer over the blind--behind iron gratings. And
all I can do is consign these leaves to the wind--every day write it all
down again and keep scattering the pages out on the street.

I will write indefatigably. I will sow the whole world with my pages.
Until the seed shall sprout in every heart, until every bedroom will be
entered by a blue apparition--a dear dead one showing his wounds; and at
last, at last, the glorious song of the world's redemption will resound
under my window, the wrathful cry shouted by a million throats:

"Man Sal-ad!"




V

A HERO'S DEATH


The staff physician had not understood. He shook his head, vexed, and
looked questioningly over the rims of his glasses at his assistant.

But his assistant had not understood either, and was embarrassed, and
stood stiffly without saying anything.