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my exact sensations, but it can safely be assumed that
I felt excited, important, and rather nervous, I was
shown into an austere-looking room where Tyrrell
was sitting with a reading lamp at his elbow. My first
impression was that he looked exactly like a philo-
sopher. He was small, clean-shaven, with longish
grey hair brushed neatly above a fine forehead. He
had a long upper lip, a powerful ironic mouth, and
large earnest eyes. I observed that the book which he
put aside was called The Conquest of Bread by Kropot-
kin, and I wondered what on earth it could be about.
He put me at my ease by lighting a large pipe, saying
as he did so, "Well, I gather from Markington's letter
that you've been experiencing a change of heart about
the War." He asked for details of my career in the
Army, and soon I was rambling on in my naturally
inconsequent style. Tyrrell said very little, his object
being to size me up. Having got my mind warmed
up, I began to give him a few of my notions about the
larger aspects of the War. But he interrupted my
"and after what Markington told me the other day, I
must say", with, "Never mind about what Marking-
ton told you. It amounts to this, doesn't it—that you
have ceased to believe what you are told about the
objects for which you supposed yourself to be fight-
ing?" I replied that it did boil down to something
like that, and it seemed to me a bloody shame, the
troops getting killed all the time while people at home
humbugged themselves into believing that everyone
in the trenches enjoyed it. Tyrrell poured me out a
second cup of tea and suggested that I should write
out a short personal statement based on my convic-
tion that the War was being unnecessarily prolonged
by the refusal of the Allies to publish their war aims.
When I had done this we could discuss the next step