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Full text of "TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston"

worried around the same purgatorial limbo so inces-
santly that the whole business began to seem unreal and
distorted. Sometimes the wording of my thoughts be-
came incoherent and even nonsensical. At other times
I saw everything with the haggard clarity of insomnia.

So on Saturday afternoon I decided that I really
must go and get some fresh air, and I took the electric
train to Formby. How much longer would this
ghastly show go on, I wondered, as the train pulled up
at Glitherland Station. All I wanted now was that the
thing should be taken out of my own control, as well
as the Colonel's. I didn't care how they treated me as
long as I wasn't forced to argue about it any more. At
Formby I avoided the Golf Course (remembering,
with a gleam of haggard humour, how Aunt Evelyn
had urged me to bring my "golf sticks", as she called
them). Wandering along the sand dunes I felt out-
lawed, bitter, and baited. I wanted something to
smash and trample on, and in a paroxysm of exaspera-
tion I performed the time-honoured gesture of shaking
my clenched fists at the sky. Feeling no better for
that, I ripped the M.C. ribbon off my tunic and threw
it into the mouth of the Mersey. Weighted with signi-
ficance though this action was, it would have felt more
conclusive had the ribbon been heavier. As it was,
the poor little thing fell weakly on to the water and
floated away as though aware of its own futility. One
of my point-to-point cups would have served my pur-
pose more satisfyingly, and they'd meant much the
same to me as my Military Cross.

Watching a big boat which was steaming along the
horizon, I realized that protesting against the pro-
longation of the War was about as much use as
shouting at the people on board that ship.

TBf                                                                    "X

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