and His solstices and equinoxes, His tropics and turning-points and recurrences are innate in Being, and when He falls He falls like harlequin and shuttlecocks, shivering plumb to His feet, and each third day, lo, He is risen again, and His defeats are but the stepping-stones and rough scaffolding from which He builds His Parthenons, and from the densest basalt gush His rills, and the last end of this Earth shall be no poison-cloud, I say to you, but Carnival and Harvest-home ... though ye have sinned, poor hearts ...’

* * * * *

So Mackay, with thick-tongued metallic effort.  I found this brown room of the Commons-house, with its green benches, and grilled galleries, so agreeable to my mood, that I went again the next morning, and listened to more records, till they tired me:  for what I had was a prurient itch to hear secret scandals, and revelations of the festering heart, but these cylinders, gathered from a shop, divulged nothing.  I then went out to make for Woolwich, but in the car saw the poet’s note-book in which I had written:  and I took it, went back, and was writing an hour, till I was tired of that, too; and judging it too late for Woolwich that day, wandered about the dusty committee-rooms and recesses of this considerable place.  In one room another foolishness suddenly seized upon me, shewing how my slightest whim has become more imperious within me than all the Jaws of the Medes and Persians:  for in that room, Committee Room No. 15, I found an apparently young policeman lying flat on his back, who pleased me:  his helmet tilted under his head, and near one white-gloved hand a blue official envelope; the air of that stagnant quiet room was still perceptibly peach-scented, and he gave not the slightest odour that I could detect, though he had been corporal and stalwart, his face now the colour of dark ashes, in each hollow cheek a ragged hole about the size of a sixpence, the flimsy vaulted eye-lids well embedded in their caverns, from under whose fringe of eye-lash seemed whispered the word:  ‘Eternity.’ His hair seemed very long for a policeman, or perhaps it had grown since death; but what interested me about him, was the envelope at his hand:  for ‘what,’ I asked myself, ’was this fellow doing here with an envelope at three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon?’ This made me look closer, and then I saw by a mark at the left temple that he had been shot, or felled; whereupon I was thrown into quite a great rage, for I thought that this poor man was killed in the execution of his duty, when many of his kind perhaps, and many higher than he, had fled their post to pray or riot.  So, after looking at him a long time, I said to him:  ’Well, D. 47, you sleep very well:  and you did well, dying so:  I am pleased with you, and to mark my favour, I decree that you shall neither rot in the common air, nor burn in the common flames:  for by my own hand shall you be distinguished with burial.’