It was ironical that at this very moment, when the power of his enjoyment of it had been killed, he seemed able to articulate his philosophy of the ideal road more definitely than he had ever done before. What it really had meant, this philosophy, was a power of seeing things arranged under a certain light ⁠ ⁠… a light charged with memories of the past⁠ ⁠… a light capable of linking his days in flowing continuity! Well, it was all lost now⁠ ⁠… lost because it implied a certain kind of Wolf who was enjoying it; and that kind of Wolf was stone dead.

“Harrison Minor, what are you thinking of? You’ve cribbed this straight from Martin Major!”⁠ ⁠…

His voice must have assumed something of the harsh bitterness of his mood; for a lot of heads were raised from the desks, and there was a hurried whispering in Harrison Minor’s corner.