Awoman，whenshe’sspoilt，isSPOILT。She’sdirtyingrain。
She’sdone。”
Shewalkedonweeping。
“You’reafooltowantme。”shesaid。“You’reafooltowantme——formysakejustasmuchasyours。We’vedoneallwecan。
It’sjustromancing——“
Shedashedthetearsfromhereyesandturneduponme。“Don’tyouunderstand？”shechallenged。“Don’tyouknow？”
Wefacedoneanotherinsilenceforamoment。
“Yes。”Isaid，“Iknow。”
Foralongtimewespokeneveraword，butwalkedontogether，slowlyandsorrowfully，reluctanttoturnabouttowardsourparting。Whenatlastwedid，shebrokesilenceagain。
“I’vehadyou。”shesaid。
“Heavenandhell。”Isaid，“can’talterthat。”
“I’vewanted——“shewenton。“I’vetalkedtoyouinthenightsandmadeupspeeches。NowwhenIwanttomakethemI’mtongue-tied。Buttomeit’sjustasifthemomentswehavehadlastedforever。Moodsandstatescomeandgo。To-daymylightisout。”
TothisdayIcannotdeterminewhethershesaidorwhetherI
imaginedshesaid“chloral。”Perhapsahalf-consciousdiagnosisflasheditonmybrain。PerhapsIamthevictimofsomeperverseimaginativefreakofmemory，somehintedpossibilitythatscratchedandseared。Therethewordstandsinmymemory，asifitwerewritteninfire。
WecametothedoorofLadyOsprey’sgardenatlast，anditwasbeginningtodrizzle。
SheheldoutherhandsandItookthem。
“Yours。”shesaid，inawearyunimpassionedvoice；“allthatI
had——suchasitwas。Willyouforget？”
“Never。”Ianswered。
“Neveratouchorawordofit？”
“No。”
“Youwill。”shesaid。
Welookedatoneanotherinsilence，andherfacefulloffatigueandmisery。
WhatcouldIdo？Whatwastheretodo？
“Iwish——“Isaid，andstopped。
“Good-bye。”
ThatshouldhavebeenthelastIsawofher，but，indeed，Iwasdestinedtoseeheronceagain。TwodaysafterIwasatLadyGrove，Iforgetaltogetheruponwhaterrand，andasIwalkedbacktothestationbelievinghertobegoneawayshecameuponme，andshewasridingwithCarnaby，justasIhadseenthemfirst。
Theencounterjumpeduponusunprepared。Sherodeby，hereyesdarkinherwhiteface，andscarcelynoticedme。Shewincedandgrewstiffatthesightofmeandbowedherhead。ButCarnaby，becausehethoughtIwasabrokenanddiscomfitedman，salutedmewithaneasyfriendliness，andshoutedsomegenialcommonplacetome。
Theypassedoutofsightandleftmebytheroadside。
Andthen，indeed，Itastedtheultimatebitternessoflife。ForthefirsttimeIfeltutterfutility，andwaswrungbyemotionthatbegotnoaction，byshameandpitybeyondwords。IhadpartedfromherdullyandIhadseenmyunclebreakanddiewithdryeyesandasteadymind，butthischancesightofmylostBeatricebroughtmetotears。Myfacewaswrung，andtearscamepouringdownmycheeks。Allthemagicshehadformehadchangedtowildsorrow。“OhGod！”Icried，“thisistoomuch。”andturnedmyfaceafterherandmadeappealinggesturestothebeechtreesandcursedatfate。Iwantedtodopreposterousthings，topursueher，tosaveher，toturnlifebacksothatshemightbeginagain。IwonderwhatwouldhavehappenedhadIovertakentheminpursuit，breathlesswithrunning，utteringincoherentwords，weeping，expostulatory。Icameneartodoingthat。
Therewasnothinginearthorheaventorespectmycursesorweeping。Inthemidstofitamanwhohadbeentrimmingtheoppositehedgeappearedandstaredatme。
Abruptly，ridiculously，Idissembledbeforehimandwentonandcaughtmytrain。
ButthepainIfeltthenIhavefeltahundredtimes；itiswithmeasIwrite。Ithauntsthisbook，Isee，thatiswhathauntsthisbook，fromendtoend。
Ihavetriedthroughoutallthisstorytotellthingsastheyhappenedtome。Inthebeginning——thesheetsarestillhereonthetable，grimyanddogs-earedandold-looking——IsaidIwantedtotellMYSELFandtheworldinwhichIfoundmyself，andIhavedonemybest。ButwhetherIhavesucceededIcannotimagine。Allthiswritingisgreynowanddeadandtriteandunmeaningtome；
someofitIknowbyheart。Iamthelastpersontojudgeit。
AsIturnoverthebigpileofmanuscriptbeforemecertainthingsbecomeclearertome，andparticularlytheimmenseinconsequencesofmyexperiences。Itis，IseenowthatIhaveitallbeforeme，astoryofactivityandurgencyandsterility。
IhavecalleditTono-Bungay，butIhadfarbetterhavecalleditWaste。IhavetoldofchildlessMarion，ofmychildlessaunt，ofBeatricewastedandwastefulandfutile。Whathopeisthereforapeoplewhosewomenbecomefruitless？IthinkofalltheenergyIhavegiventovainthings。Ithinkofmyindustriousschemingwithmyuncle，ofCrestHill’svastcessation，ofhisresonantstrenuouscareer。Tenthousandmenhaveenviedhimandwishedtoliveashelived。Itisallonespectacleofforcesrunningtowaste，ofpeoplewhouseanddonotreplace，thestoryofacountryhecticwithawastingaimlessfeveroftradeandmoney-makingandpleasure-seeking。AndnowIbuilddestroyers！
Otherpeoplemayseethiscountryinotherterms；thisishowI
haveseenit。InsomeearlychapterinthisheapIcomparedallourpresentcolourandabundancetoOctoberfoliagebeforethefrostsnipdowntheleaves。ThatIstillfeelwasagoodimage。
PerhapsIseewrongly。ItmaybeIseedecayallaboutmebecauseIam，inasense，decay。Toothersitmaybeasceneofachievementandconstructionradiantwithhope。I，too，haveasortofhope，butitisaremotehope，ahopethatfindsnopromiseinthisEmpireorinanyofthegreatthingsofourtime。
HowtheywilllookinhistoryIdonotknow，howtimeandchancewillprovethemIcannotguess；thatishowtheyhavemirroredthemselvesononecontemporarymind。
ConcurrentlywithwritingthelastchapterofthisbookIhavebeenmuchengagedbytheaffairsofanewdestroyerwehavecompleted。Ithasbeenanoddlycomplementaryalternationofoccupations。ThreeweeksorsoagothisnovelhadtobeputasideinorderthatImightgiveallmytimedayandnighttothefittingandfinishingoftheengines。LastThursdayX2，forsowecallher，wasdoneandItookherdowntheThamesandwentoutnearlytoTexelforatrialofspeed。
Itiscurioushowattimesone’simpressionswillallfuseandruntogetherintoasortofunityandbecomecontinuouswiththingsthathavehithertobeenutterlyalienandremote。Thatrushdowntheriverbecamemysteriouslyconnectedwiththisbook。
AsIpasseddowntheThamesIseemedinanewandparallelmannertobepassingallEnglandinreview。IsawitthenasIhadwantedmyreaderstoseeit。ThethoughtcametomeslowlyasI
pickedmywaythroughthePool；itstoodoutclearasIwentdreamingintothenightoutuponthewideNorthSea。
Itwasn’tsomuchthinkingatthetimeasasortofphotographicthoughtthatcameandgrewclear。X2wentrippingthroughthedirtyoilywaterasscissorsripthroughcanvas，andthefrontofmymindwasallintentwithgettingherthroughunderthebridgesandinandoutamongthesteam-boatsandbargesandrowing-boatsandpiers。Ilivedwithmyhandsandeyeshardahead。Ithoughtnothingthenofanyappearancesbutobstacles，butforallthatthebackofmymindtookthephotographicmemoryofitcompleteandvivid。
“This。”itcametome，“isEngland。ThatiswhatIwantedtogiveinmybook。This！”
Westartedinthelateafternoon。WethrobbedoutofouryardaboveHammersmithBridge，fussedaboutforamoment，andheadeddownstream。WecameataneasyrushdownCravenReach，pastFulhamandHurlingham，pastthelongstretchesofmuddymeadowAndmuddysuburbtoBatterseaandChelsea，roundthecapeoftidyfrontagethatisGrosvenorRoadandunderVauxhallBridge，andWestminsteropenedbeforeus。WeclearedastringofcoalbargesandthereontheleftintheOctobersunshinestoodtheParliamenthouses，andtheflagwasflyingandParliamentwassitting。
Isawitatthetimeunseeingly；afterwardsitcameintomymindasthecentreofthewholebroadpanoramiceffectofthatafternoon。ThestiffsquarelaceofVictorianGothicwithitsDutchclockofatowercameuponmesuddenlyandstaredandwhirledpastinaslowhalfpirouetteandbecamestill，Iknow，behindmeasifwatchingmerecede。“Aren’tyougoingtorespectme，then？”itseemedtosay。
