"They march to battle. We float with the sticks on the stream ; helter-skelter with the dead leaves on the lawn, irresponsible and disinterested and able, perhaps for the first time for years, to look round, too look up - to look, for example, at the sky."
"But with the hook of life still in us we must wriggle. We cannot stiffen peaceably into glassy mounds."
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