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Full text of "TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston"

carried undeservedly from the ship to the train; and I
could find no fault with Hampshire's quiet cornfields
and unwarlike woods in the drowsy August afternoon.
At first I guessed that we were on our way to London;
but when the journey showed signs of cross-countri-
hood I preferred not to be told where we were going.
Recumbent, I gazed gloatingly at England. Peace-
able stay-at-homes waved to the Red Cross Train,
standing still to watch it pass. It was nice to think
that I'd been fighting for them, though exactly what
I'd done to help them was difficult to define. An
elderly man, cycling along a dusty road in a dark blue
suit and a straw hat, removed one hand from the
handle-bars to wave comprehensive gratitude. Every-
thing seemed happy and homely. I was delivered
from the idea of death, and that other thing which had
haunted me, the dread of being blinded. I closed con-
tented eyes, became sleepy, and awoke to find myself
at Oxford. By five o'clock I was in a small white room
on the ground floor of Somerville College. Listening
to the tranquil tolling of Oxford bells and someone
strumming melodiously on a piano across the lawn,
with a glimpse of tall chestnut trees swaying against
the blue sky, I whispered the word Paradise. Had I
earned it? I was too grateful to care.

II

IN OXFORD lived Mr. Farrell, an old friend of Aunt
Evelyn's. Some years before the War he had lived
near Butley, and he now came to pay me an afternoon
visit at the Hospital, where I was reclining under a
tree on the lawn, still keeping up appearances as an
invalid officer. He sat beside me arid we conversed
rather laboriously about Aunt Evelyn and her neigh-

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