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now seems almost too delicate to be divulged. In their
eyes, I suppose, there was no credit attached to the
fact of having been at the front, but for me it had been
a supremely important experience. I am obliged to
admit that if these anti-war enthusiasts hadn't hap-
pened to be likeable I might have secretly despised
them. Any man who had been on active service had
an unfair advantage over those who hadn't. And the
man who had really endured the War at its worst was
everlastingly differentiated from everyone except his
fellow soldiers.

Tyrrell (a great man and to be thought of as "in a
class by himself") took me up to Hampstead one hot
afternoon to interview a member of Parliament who
was "interested in my case". Walking alongside of
the philosopher I felt as if we were a pair of conspira-
tors. His austere scientific intellect was far beyond
my reach, but he helped me by his sense of humour,
which he had contrived, rather grimly, to retain, in
spite of the exasperating spectacle of European civili-
zation trying to commit suicide. The M.P. promised
to raise the question of my statement in the House of
Commons as soon as I had sent it to the Colonel at
Clitherland, so I began to feel that I was getting on
grandly. But except for the few occasions when I saw
Tyrrell, I was existing in a world of my own (in which
I tried to keep my courage up to protest-pitch). From
the visible world I sought evidence which could aggra-
vate my quarrel with acquiescent patriotism. Evi-
dences of civilian callousness and complacency were
plentiful, for the thriftless licence of war-time behav-
iour was an unavoidable spectacle, especially in the
Savoy Hotel Grill Room which I visited more than
once in my anxiety to reassure myself of the existence
of bloated profiteers and uniformed jacks in office.