go。 Yet
the downs； in magnificent indifference； bearing limbs and body
to the sun； drinking sunshine and sea…wind and sea…wet cloud
into its golden skin； with superb stillness and calm of being；
was not the downs still more wonderful？ The blind； pathetic；
energetic courage of the train as it steamed tinily away through
the patterned levels to the sea's dimness； so fast and so
energetic； made her weep。 Where was it going？ It was going
nowhere； it was just going。 So blind； so without goal or aim；
yet so hasty！ She sat on an old prehistoric earth…work and
cried； and the tears ran down her face。 The train had tunnelled
all the earth； blindly； and uglily。
And she lay face downwards on the downs； that were so strong；
that cared only for their intercourse with the everlasting
skies； and she wished she could bee a strong mound smooth
under the sky； bosom and limbs bared to all winds and clouds and
bursts of sunshine。
But she must get up again and look down from her foothold of
sunshine； down and away at the patterned； level earth； with its
villages and its smoke and its energy。 So shortsighted the train
seemed； running to the distance； so terrifying in their
littleness the villages； with such pettiness in their
activity。
Skrebensky wandered dazed； not knowing where he was or what
he was doing with her。 All her passion