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whispered to himself, with a faint smile. Then there came into his mind
as vivid as if they were still unsettled his own horrible doubts after
he had committed himself by giving it to his own son. From that, with a
steady unfaltering expansion, in spite of every effort of men to help
and hinder, the Food had spread through the whole world of man. And now?
"
Even if they kill them all," Redwood whispered, "the thing is done."
The secret of its making was known far and wide. That had been his own
work. Plants, animals, a multitude of distressful growing children would
conspire irresistibly to force the world to revert again to the Food,
whatever happened in the present struggle. "The thing is done," he said,
with his mind swinging round beyond all his controlling to rest upon the
present fate of the Children and his son. Would he find them exhausted
by the efforts of the battle, wounded, starving, on the verge of defeat,
or would he find them still stout and hopeful, ready for the still
grimmer conflict of the morrow? His son was wounded! But he had sent a
message!
His mind came back to his interview with Caterham.
He was roused from his thoughts by the stopping of his train in
Chislehurst station. He recognised the place by the huge rat alarm-tower
that crested Camden Hill, and the row of blossoming giant hemlocks that
lined the road....
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