Читать книгу Ireland in Travail онлайн

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We were passing under a street lamp. He had become magnificent. His eyes were shining. He had swollen like a pouter pigeon.

“When the time comes for us to leave the service we cannot. We are offered rest, we are offered peace; at last has come opportunity for our stretched nerves to recover. But we must continue to be au courant with affairs. So nearly every agent dies in harness.

“But, of course, besides receiving payment, an agent pays for this life. He makes payment in several ways. One way is that he finally comes to believe nothing, to trust nobody. He weighs up what his best friend says. And another payment is that the life brings a man in the end to neutral feelings. He is cold sometimes—yes. Wet—yes. Tired—yes. Even a little depressed sometimes. But not elated. Never surprised.

“It’s fifteen years since I was surprised.”

And then at Hyde Park Corner, the place where I had last seen 47, he was gone, and I was left to stroll home alone.

My wife was still up.

“I’ve just met our other friend,” I said, shutting the door.