Chapter 20

I wanted to see her, to finish it one way or another, and, at my aunt's
house, I found her standing in an immense white room; waiting for me.
There was a profusion of light. It left her absolutely shadowless, like
a white statue in a gallery; inscrutable.

"I have come," I said. I had it in my mind to say: "Because there is
nothing for me to do on earth." But I did not, I looked at her instead.

"You have come," she repeated. She had no expression in her voice, in
her eyes. It was as if I were nothing to her; as if I were the picture
of a man. Well, that was it; I was a picture, she a statue. "I did it,"
I said at last.

"And you want?" she asked.

"You know," I answered, "I want my...." I could not think of the word.
It was either a reward or a just due. She looked at me, quite suddenly.
It made an effect as if the Venus of Milo had turned its head toward
me. She began to speak, as if the statue were speaking, as if a passing
bell were speaking; recording a passing passionlessly.

"You have done nothing at all," she said. "Nothing."

"And yet," I said, "I was at the heart of it all."

"Nothing at all," she repeated. "You were at the heart, yes; but at the
heart of a machine." Her words carried a sort of strong conviction. I
seemed suddenly to see an immense machine--unconcerned, soulless, but
all its parts made up of bodies of men: a great mill grinding out the
dust of centuries; a great wine-press. She was continuing her speech.

"As for you--you are only a detail, like all the others; you were set in
a place because you would act as you did. It was in your character. We
inherit the earth and you, your day is over.... You remember that day,
when I found you--the first day?"

I remembered that day. It was on the downland, under the immense sky,
amid the sound of larks. She had explained the nature of things. She
had talked expressionlessly in pregnant words; she was talking now. I
knew no more of her to-day, after all these days, after I had given up
to her my past and my future.

"You remember that day. I was looking for such a man, and I found you."

"And you ..." I said, "you have done this thing! Think of it!... I have
nobody--nothing--nowhere in the world. I cannot look a man in the face,
not even Churchill. I can never go to him again." I paused, expecting a
sign of softening. None came. "I have parted with my past and you tell
me there is no future."

"None," she echoed. Then, coldly, as a swan takes the water, she began
to speak:

"Well, yes! I've hurt you.