frail death-agony effort to catch at straws of memory, straws of life
from the past, brought on too great a nausea. No, No! No Winifred, no
children. No world, no people. Better the agony of dissolution ahead than
the nausea of the effort backwards. Better the terrible work should go
forward, the dissolving into the black sea of death, in the extremity of
dissolution, than that there should be any reaching back towards life. To
forget! To forget! Utterly, utterly to forget, in the great forgetting of
death. To break the core and the unit of life, and to lapse out on the
great darkness. Only that. To break the clue, and mingle and commingle
with the one darkness, without afterwards or forwards. Let the black sea
of death itself solve the problem of futurity. Let the will of man break
and give up.

What was that? A light! A terrible light! Was it figures? Was it legs of
a horse colossal--colossal above him: huge, huge?

The Germans heard a slight noise, and started. Then, in the glare of a
light-bomb, by the side of the heap of earth thrown up by the shell, they
saw the dead face.




_Tickets, Please_


There is in the Midlands a single-line tramway system which boldly
leaves the county town and plunges off into the black, industrial
countryside, up hill and down dale, through the long ugly villages of
workmen's houses, over canals and railways, past churches perched high