| 252 | 253 | 254 | 255 | 256 |
| 1 | 90 | 179 | 269 | 358 |
|
His friend glanced at his face. "You have been listening to Caterham,"
he said.
"Using my eyes. Looking a little into the peace and order of the past we
leave behind. This foul Food is the last shape of the Devil, still set
as ever upon the ruin of our world. Think what the world must have been
before our days, what it was still when our mothers bore us, and see it
now! Think how these slopes once smiled under the golden harvest, how
the hedges, full of sweet little flowers, parted the modest portion of
this man from that, how the ruddy farmhouses dotted the land, and the
voice of the church bells from yonder tower stilled the whole world each
Sabbath into Sabbath prayer. And now, every year, still more and more of
monstrous weeds, of monstrous vermin, and these giants growing all about
us, straddling over us, blundering against all that is subtle and sacred
in our world. Why here--Look!"
He pointed, and his friend's eyes followed the line of his white finger.
"
One of their footmarks. See! It has smashed itself three feet deep and
more, a pitfall for horse and rider, a trap to the unwary. There is a
briar rose smashed to death; there is grass uprooted and a teazle
crushed aside, a farmer's drain pipe snapped and the edge of the pathway
broken down. Destruction! So they are doing all over the world, all over
the order and decency the world of men has made. Trampling on all
things. Reaction! What else?"
254
Page
Quick Jump
|