Strang, in that manner of controlled emotion which the Squire
detested. He rarely felt emotion, but when he did, he let it go.
Peremptorily he turned them all out, giving strict orders that
nothing he had done should be interfered with. Then he attempted to
go on with some work of his own, but he could not bring his mind to
bear. Finally he seized his hat and went out into the park to see if
the populace were really rising. It was a cold October evening, with
a waxing moon, and a wind that was rapidly bringing the dead leaves
to earth. Not a soul was to be seen! Only once the Squire thought he
heard the sound of distant guns; and two aeroplanes crossed rapidly
overhead sailing into the western sky. Everywhere the war!--the
cursed, cursed obsession of it!
For the first time there was a breach in the Squire's defences,
which for three years he had kept up almost intact. He had put
literature, and art, and the joys of the connoisseur between himself
and the measureless human ill around him. It had spoilt his personal
life, had interfered with his travels, his diggings, his friendships
with foreign scholars.
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