face-smas t. It’s just somet’s got to happen.

    I trod on ttle rees and fields of ill tty nearly red-. I felt in muc t day in January  my neeet  seemed to me t I could see t, and all t’ll o all of times, of course, even t or t’s a tice ’s reassuring. tretcy. It’s like Siberia. And ttle grocers’ s’s too big to be co remain more or less tly I struck into outer London and follo lives inside t London stretcreets, squares, back-alleys, tenements, blocks of flats, pubs, fried-fisure-y miles, and all t million people tle private lives  to ered. t made t could smas out of existence. And t! teness of all tting out tball coupons, Bill illiams sories in t million of to keep on  to?

    Illusion! Baloney! It doesn’t matter . times are coming, and treamlined men are coming too. ’s coming after kno erests me. I only kno if t, better say good-bye to it noo ttling all time.

    But o the suburb my mood suddenly changed.

    It suddenly struck me—and it  even crossed my mind till t moment—t  really be ill after all.

    t’s t of environment, you see. In Loaken it absolutely for granted t s ill and  me  ural at time, I don’t knoo est Bletcate closed round me like a kind of red-brick prison,  is, ts of t came back. I  bloody rot it  I’d ed t five days on. Sneaking off to Loo try and recover t, and t of propic baloney about ture. ture! ’s ture got to do ’s our future. As for ill t tter.

    And suddenly I sao t. Of course t a fake! As tion! It  trut s all, s t s be lying some