He
will be filled with joy at the thought that he is about to die for
the good of the race--to 'make way' for the beautiful young breed
of men and women who, in simple, artistic, antiseptic garments, are
disporting themselves so gladly on this day of days. They pause
to salute him as he passes. And presently he sees, radiant in the
sunlight, the pleasant white-tiled dome of the lethal chamber. You
figure him at the gate, shaking hands all round, and speaking perhaps
a few well-chosen words about the Future...."
Sec.5.
It was enough. The old broom hadn't lost its snap. It had swept clean
the chambers of Perkins' soul--swished away the whole accumulation of
nasty little cobwebs and malignant germs. Gone were the mean doubts
that had formed in him, the lethargy, the cheap cynicism. Perkins was
himself again.
He saw now how very stupid it was of him to have despaired just
because his own particular panacea wasn't given a chance. That
Provisional Government plan of his had been good, but it was only
one of an infinite number of possible paths to the Dawn. He would
try others--scores of others....
He must get right away out of here--to-night. He must have his car
brought round from the garage--now--to a side door....
But first he sat down to the writing-table, and wrote quickly:
_Dear Duchess,_
_I regret I am called away on urgent political business.
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