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the War. Under this I had scribbled, Also personal
effort to dissociate myself from intolerant prejudice and con-
ventional complacence of those willing to watch sacrifices of
others while they sit safely at home. This was followed by
an indignant after-thought. / believe that by taking
this action lam helping to destroy the system of deception, etc.,
which prevents people from facing the truth and demanding
some guarantee that the torture of humanity shall not be pro-
longed unnecessarily through the arrogance and incompetence
of. . . . Here it broke off, and I wondered how many
c's there were in "unnecessarily". / am not a con-
scientious objector. I am a soldier who believes he is acting
on behalf of soldiers. How inflated and unconvincing
it all looked! If I wasn't careful I should be yelling
like some crank on a barrel in Hyde Park. Well, there
was nothing for it but to begin all over again. I
couldn't ask Tyrrell to give me a few hints. He'd in-
sisted that I must be independent-minded, and had
since written to remind me that I must decide my
course of action for myself and not be prompted by
anything he'd said to me.

Sitting there with my elbows on the table I stared
at the dingy red wallpaper in an unseeing effort at
mental concentration. If I stared hard enough and
straight enough, it seemed, I should see through the
wall. Truth would be revealed, and my brain would
become articulate. / am making this statement as an act
of wilful defiance of military authority because I believe that
the War is being deliberately prolonged by those who have the
power to end it. That would be all right as a kick-off,
anyhow. So I continued my superhuman cogitations.
Around me was London with its darkened streets;
and far away was the War, going on with wave on
wave of gunfire, devouring its victims, and unable to
blunder forward either to Paris or the Rhine. The