Ihardenedmyheart，orIcouldnothavegone。ForatthelastitcametoMarionthatshewaspartingfrommeforever。Thatoverboreallotherthings，hadturnedourlasthourtoanguish。
　　Sheforgotforatimetheprospectofmovingintoanewhouse，sheforgottheoutrageonherproprietorshipandpride。Forthefirsttimeinherlifeshereallyshowedstrongemotionsinregardtome，forthefirsttime，perhaps，theyreallycametoher。Shebegantoweepslow，reluctanttears。Icameintoherroom，andfoundherasprawlonthebed，weeping。
　　“Ididn’tknow。”shecried。“Oh！Ididn’tunderstand！”
　　“I’vebeenafool。Allmylifeisawreck！
　　“Ishallbealone！。MUTNEY！Mutney，don’tleaveme！Oh！
　　Mutney！Ididn’tunderstand。”
　　Ihadtohardenmyheartindeed，foritseemedtomeatmomentsinthoselasthourstogetherthatatlast，toolate，thelonged-forthinghadhappenedandMarionhadcomealive。A
　　new-bornhungerformelithereyes。
　　“Don’tleaveme！”shesaid，“don’tleaveme！”Sheclungtome；
　　shekissedmewithtear-saltlips。
　　Iwaspromisednowandpledged，andIhardenedmyheartagainstthisimpossibledawn。Yetitseemstomethatthereweremomentswhenitneededbutacry，butonewordtohaveunitedusagainforallourlives。Couldwehaveunitedagain？Wouldthatpassagehaveenlightenedusforeverorshouldwehavefallenbackinaweekorsointotheoldestrangement，theoldtemperamentalopposition？
　　Ofthatthereisnownotelling。Ourownresolvecarriedusonourpredestinedway。Webehavedmoreandmorelikeseparatinglovers，partinginexorably，butallthepreparationswehadsetgoingworkedonlikeamachine，andwemadenoattempttostopthem。Mytrunksandboxeswenttothestation。IpackedmybagwithMarionstandingbeforeme。Wewerelikechildrenwhohadhurteachotherhorriblyinsheerstupidity，whodidn’tknownowhowtoremedyit。Webelongedtoeachotherimmensely——immensely。Thecabcametothelittleirongate。
　　“Good-bye！”Isaid。
　　“Good-bye。”
　　Foramomentweheldoneanotherineachother’sarmsandkissed——incrediblywithoutmalice。Weheardourlittleservantinthepassagegoingtoopenthedoor。Forthelasttimewepressedourselvestooneanother。Wewerenotloversnorenemies，buttwohumansoulsinafrankcommunityofpain。I
　　toremyselffromher。
　　“Goaway。”Isaidtotheservant，seeingthatMarionhadfollowedmedown。
　　IfeltherstandingbehindmeasIspoketothecabman。
　　Igotintothecab，resolutelynotlookingback，andthenasitstartedjumpedup，cranedoutandlookedatthedoor。
　　Itwaswideopen，butshehaddisappeared。
　　Iwonder——Isupposesheranupstairs。
　　SoIpartedfromMarionatanextremityofperturbationandregret，andwent，asIhadpromisedandarranged，toEffie，whowaswaitingformeinapartmentsnearOrpington。Irememberheruponthestationplatform，abright，flittingfigurelookingalongthetrainforme，andourwalkoverthefieldsinthetwilight。Ihadexpectedanimmensesenseofreliefwhereatlastthestressesofseparationwereover，butnowIfoundIwasbeyondmeasurewretchedandperplexed，fulloftheprofoundestpersuasionofirreparableerror。TheduskandsomberMarionweresoalike，hersorrowseemedtobeallaboutme。Ihadtoholdmyselftomyownplans，torememberthatImustkeepfaithwithEffie，withEffiewhohadmadenoterms，exactednoguarantees，butflungherselfintomyhands。
　　Wewentacrosstheeveningfieldsinsilence，towardsaskyofdeepeninggoldandpurple，andEffiewasclosebesidemealways，veryclose，glancingupeverandagainatmyface。
　　CertainlysheknewIgrievedforMarion，thatourswasnownojoyfulreunion。Butsheshowednoresentmentandnojealousy。
　　Extraordinarily，shedidnotcompeteagainstMarion。NeveronceinallourtimetogetherdidshesayanadversewordofMarion。
　　Shesetherselfpresentlytodispeltheshadowthatbroodedovermewiththesameinstinctiveskillthatsomewomenwillshowwiththetroubleofachild。Shemadeherselfmygladandprettyslaveandhandmaid；sheforcedmeatlasttorejoiceinher。YetatthebackofitallMarionremained，stupidandtearfulandinfinitelydistressful，sothatIwasalmostintolerablyunhappyforher——forherandthedeadbodyofmymarriedlove。
　　Itisall，asItellitnow，unaccountabletome。Igobackintotheseremoteparts，theserarelyvisiteduplandsandlonelytaresofmemory，anditseemstomestillastrangecountry。IhadthoughtImightbegoingtosomesensuousparadisewithEffie，butdesirewhichfillstheuniversebeforeitssatisfaction，vanishesutterlylikethegoingofdaylight——withachievement。
　　Allthefactsandformsofliferemaindarklingandcold。Itwasanuplandofmelancholyquestionings，aregionfromwhichIsawalltheworldatnewanglesandinnewaspects；Ihadoutflankedpassionandromance。
　　Ihadcomeintoaconditionofvastperplexities。Forthefirsttimeinmylife，atleastsoitseemstomenowinthisretrospect，Ilookedatmyexistenceasawhole。
　　Sincethiswasnothing，whatwasIdoing？WhatwasIfor？
　　IwasgoingtoandfroaboutTono-Bungay——thebusinessIhadtakenuptosecureMarionandwhichheldmenowinspiteofourintimateseparation——andsnatchingoddweek-endsandnightsforOrpington，andallthewhileIstruggledwiththeseobstinateinterrogations。Iusedtofallintomusinginthetrains，I
　　becameevenalittleinaccurateandforgetfulaboutbusinessthings。IhavetheclearestmemoryofmyselfsittingthoughtfulintheeveningsunlightonagrassyhillsidethatlookedtowardSevenOaksandcommandedawidesweepofcountry，andthatIwasthinkingoutmydestiny。Icouldalmostwritemythoughtdownnow，Ibelieve，astheycametomethatafternoon。Effie，restlesslittlecockneythatshewas，rustledandstruggledinahedgerowbelow，gatheringflowers，discoveringflowersshehadneverseenbefore。Ihad。Iremember，aletterfromMarioninmypocket。Ihadevenmadesometentativesforreturn，forareconciliation；HeavenknowsnowhowIhadputit！buthercold，ill-writtenletterrepelledme。IperceivedIcouldneverfacethatoldinconclusivedullnessoflifeagain，thatstagnantdisappointment。That，anyhow，wasn’tpossible。Butwhatwaspossible？Icouldseenowayofhonourorfinelivingbeforemeatall。
　　“WhatamItodowithlife？”thatwasthequestionthatbesiegedme。
　　IwonderedifalltheworldwasevenasI，urgedtothisbyonemotiveandtothatbyanother，creaturesofchanceandimpulseandunmeaningtraditions。HadIindeedtoabidebywhatIhadsaidanddoneandchosen？WastherenothingformeinhonourbuttoprovideforEffie，gobackpenitenttoMarionandkeeptomytradeinrubbish——orfindsomefreshone——andsoworkouttheresidueofmydays？Ididn’tacceptthatforamoment。ButwhatelsewasItodo？Iwonderedifmycasewasthecaseofmanymen，whetherinformerages，too，menhadbeensoguideless，souncharted，sohaphazardintheirjourneyintolife。IntheMiddleAges，intheoldCatholicdays，onewenttoapriest，andhesaidwithallthefinalityofnaturallaw，thisyouareandthisyoumustdo。IwonderedwhetherevenintheMiddleAgesI
　　shouldhaveacceptedthatrulingwithoutquestion。
　　IremembertooverydistinctlyhowEffiecameandsatbesidemeonalittlebox：thatwasbeforethecasementwindowofourroom。
　　“Gloomkins。”saidshe。
　　Ismiledandremainedheadonhand，lookingoutofthewindowforgetfulofher。
　　“Didyouloveyourwifesowell？”shewhisperedsoftly。
　　“Oh！”Icried，recalledagain；“Idon’tknow。Idon’tunderstandthesethings。Lifeisathingthathurts，mydear！Ithurtswithoutlogicorreason。I’veblundered！Ididn’tunderstand。
　　Anyhow——thereisnoneedtogohurtingyou，isthere？”
　　AndIturnedaboutanddrewhertome，andkissedherear。
　　Yes，Ihadaverybadtime——Istillrecall。Isuffered，I
　　suppose，fromasortofennuioftheimagination。Ifoundmyselfwithoutanobjecttoholdmywilltogether。Isought。I
　　readrestlesslyanddiscursively。ItriedEwartandgotnohelpfromhim。AsIregarditallnowinthisretrospect，itseemstomeasifinthosedaysofdisgustandabandonedaimsIdiscoveredmyselfforthefirsttime。BeforethatIhadseenonlytheworldandthingsinit，hadsoughtthemself-forgetfulofallbutmyimpulse。NowIfoundmyselfGROUPEDwithasystemofappetitesandsatisfactions，withmuchworktodo——andnodesire，itseemed，leftinme。
　　ThereweremomentswhenIthoughtofsuicide。Attimesmylifeappearedbeforemeinbleak，relentlesslight，aseriesofignorances，crudeblunderings，degradationandcruelty。Ihadwhattheoldtheologianscalla“convictionofsin。”Isoughtsalvation——notperhapsintheformulaaMethodistpreacherwouldrecognisebutsalvationnevertheless。
　　Menfindtheirsalvationnowadaysinmanyways。Namesandformsdon’t，Ithink，matterverymuch；therealneedissomethingthatwecanholdandthatholdsone。Ihaveknownamanfindthatdeterminingfactorinadry-platefactory，andanotherinwritingahistoryoftheManor。Solongasitholdsone，itdoesnotmatter。ManymenandwomennowadaystakeupsomeconcreteaspectofSocialismorsocialreform。ButSocialismformehasalwaysbeenalittlebittoohuman，toosetaboutwithpersonalitiesandfoolishness。Itisn’tmyline。Idon’tlikethingssohuman。Idon’tthinkI’mblindtothefun，thesurprises，thejollylittlecoarsenessesandinsufficiencyoflife，tothe“humourofit。”aspeoplesay，andtoadventure，butthatisn’ttherootofthematterwithme。There’snohumourinmyblood。I’minearnestinwarpandwoof。Istumbleandflounder，butIknowthatoverallthesemerryimmediatethings，thereareotherthingsthataregreatandserene，veryhigh，beautifulthings——thereality。Ihaven’tgotit，butit’stherenevertheless。I’maspiritualguttersnipeinlovewithunimaginablegoddesses。I’veneverseenthegoddessesnorevershall——butittakesallthefunoutofthemud——andattimes###第40章
　　fearittakesallthekindliness，too。
　　ButI’mtalkingofthingsIcan’texpectthereadertounderstand，becauseIdon’thalfunderstandthemmyself。Thereissomethinglinksthingsforme，asunsetorso，amoodorso，thehighair，somethingtherewasinMarion’sformandcolour，somethingIfindandloseinMantegna’spictures，somethinginthelinesoftheseboatsImake。YoushouldseeX2，mylastandbest！
　　Ican’texplainmyself，Iperceive。Perhapsitallcomestothis，thatIamahardandmorallylimitedcadwithamindbeyondmymerits。NaturallyIresistthatasacompletesolution。
　　Anyhow，Ihadasenseofinexorableneed，ofdistressandinsufficiencythatwasunendurable，andforatimethisaeronauticalengineeringallayedit。
　　IntheendofthisparticularcrisisofwhichItellsobadly，I
　　idealisedScience。Idecidedthatinpowerandknowledgelaythesalvationofmylife，thesecretthatwouldfillmyneed；thattothesethingsIwouldgivemyself。
　　Iemergedatlastlikeamanwhohasbeendivingindarkness，clutchingatanewresolveforwhichhehadgropeddesperatelyandlong。
　　Icameintotheinnerofficesuddenlyoneday——itmusthavebeenjustbeforethetimeofMarion’ssuitforrestitution——andsatdownbeforemyuncle。
　　“Lookhere。”Isaid，“I’msickofthis。”
　　“HulLO！”heanswered，andputsomepapersaside。
　　“What’sup，George？”
　　“Thingsarewrong。”
　　“Ashow？”
　　“Mylife。”Isaid，“it’samess，aninfinitemess。”
　　“She’sbeenastupidgirl，George。”hesaid；“Ipartlyunderstand。Butyou’requitofhernow，practically，andthere’sjustasgoodfishinthesea——“
　　“Oh！it’snotthat！”Icried。“That’sonlythepartthatshows。
　　I’msick——I’msickofallthisdamnedrascality。”
　　“Eh？Eh？”saidmyuncle。“WHAT——rascality？”
　　“Oh，YOUknow。IwantsomeSTUFF，man。Iwantsomethingtoholdonto。IshallgoamokifIdon’tgetit。I’madifferentsortofbeastfromyou。Youfloatinallthisbunkum。_I_feellikeamanflounderinginauniverseofsoapsuds，upanddowns，eastandwest。Ican’tstandit。Imustgetmyfootonsomethingsolidor——Idon’tknowwhat。”
　　Ilaughedattheconsternationinhisface。
　　“Imeanit。”Isaid。“I’vebeenthinkingitover。I’vemadeupmymind。It’snogoodarguing。Ishallgoinforwork——realwork。No！thisisn’twork；it’sonlylaboriouscheating。ButI’vegotanidea！It’sanoldidea——Ithoughtofyearsago，butitcamebacktome。Lookhere！WhyshouldIfenceaboutwithyou？Ibelievethetimehascomeforflyingtobepossible。
　　Realflying！”
　　“Flying！”
　　Istucktothat，andithelpedmethroughtheworsttimeinmylife。Myuncle，aftersomehalf-heartedresistanceandatalkwithmyaunt，behavedlikethefatherofaspoiltson。Hefixedupanarrangementthatgavemecapitaltoplaywith，releasedmefromtooconstantasolicitudeforthenewerbusinessdevelopments——thiswasinwhatImaycallthelaterMoggsperiodofourenterprises——andIwenttoworkatoncewithgrimintensity。
　　ButIwilltellofmysoaringandflyingmachinesintheproperplace。I’vebeenleavingthestoryofmyunclealtogethertoolong。IwantedmerelytotellhowitwasItooktothiswork。I
　　tooktotheseexperimentsafterIhadsoughtsomethingthatMarioninsomeindefinablewayhadseemedtopromise。Itoiledandforgotmyselfforatime，anddidmanythings。Sciencetoohasbeensomethingofanirresponsivemistresssince，thoughI’veservedherbetterthanIservedMarion。ButatthetimeScience，withherorder，herinhumandistance，yetsteelycertainties，savedmefromdespair。
　　Well，Ihavestilltofly；butincidentallyIhaveinventedthelightestenginesintheworld。
　　Iamtryingtotellofallthethingsthathappenedtome。It’shardenoughsimplytogetitputdownintheremotestdegreeright。Butthisisanovel，notatreatise。Don’timaginethatI
　　amcomingpresentlytoanysortofsolutionofmydifficulties。
　　HereamongmydrawingsandhammeringsNOW，Istillquestionunansweringproblems。Allmylifehasbeenatbottom，SEEKING，disbelievingalways，dissatisfiedalwayswiththethingseenandthethingbelieved，seekingsomethingintoil，inforce，indanger，somethingwhosenameandnatureIdonotclearlyunderstand，somethingbeautiful，worshipful，enduring，mineprofoundlyandfundamentally，andtheutterredemptionofmyself；
　　Idon’tknow——allIcantellisthatitissomethingIhaveeverfailedtofind。
　　ButbeforeIfinishthischapterandbookaltogetherandgoonwiththegreatadventureofmyuncle’scareer。ImayperhapstellwhatelseremainstotellofMarionandEffie，andthenforatimesetmyprivatelifebehindme。
　　ForatimeMarionandIcorrespondedwithsomeregularity，writingfriendlybutratheruninforminglettersaboutsmallbusinessthings。Theclumsyprocessofdivorcecompleteditself。
　　SheleftthehouseatEalingandwentintothecountrywithherauntandparents，takingasmallfarmnearLewesinSussex。Sheputupglass，sheputinheatforherfather，happyman！andspokeoffigsandpeaches。Thethingseemedtopromisewellthroughoutaspringandsummer，buttheSussexwinterafterLondonwastoomuchfortheRamboats。Theygotverymuddyanddull；Mr。Ramboatkilledacowbyimproperfeeding，andthatdisheartenedthemall。Atwelvemonthsawtheenterpriseindifficulties。Ihadtohelpheroutofthis，andthentheyreturnedtoLondonandshewentintopartnershipwithSmithieatStreatham，andranabusinessthatwasintimatedonthefirm’sstationeryas“Robes。”Theparentsandauntwerestowedawayinacottagesomewhere。Afterthatthelettersbecameinfrequent。
　　ButinoneIrememberapostscriptthathadalittlestabofouroldintimacy：“PooroldMigglesisdead。”
　　Nearlyeightyearsslippedby。Igrewup。Igrewinexperience，incapacity，untilIwasfullyaman，butwithmanynewinterests，livingonalargerscaleinawiderworldthanIcouldhavedreamtofinmyMariondays。Herlettersbecomerareandinsignificant。Atlastcameagapofsilencethatmademecurious。ForeighteenmonthsormoreIhadnothingfromMarionsaveherquarterlyreceiptsthroughthebank。ThenIdamnedatSmithie，andwroteacardtoMarion。
　　“DearMarion。”Isaid，“howgoesit？”
　　Sheastonishedmetremendouslybytellingmeshehadmarriedagain——“aMr。Wachorn，aleadingagentinthepaper-patterntrade。”ButshestillwroteonthePonderevoandSmithRobes
　　notepaper，fromthePonderevoandSmithaddress。
　　Andthat，exceptforalittledifferenceofopinionaboutthecontinuanceofalimonywhichgavemesomepassagesofanger，andtheuseofmynamebythefirm，whichalsoannoyedme，istheendofMarion’shistoryforme，andshevanishesoutofthisstory。
　　Idonotknowwheresheisorwhatsheisdoing。Idonotknowwhethersheisaliveordead。ItseemstomeutterlygrotesquethattwopeoplewhohavestoodsoclosetooneanotherassheandIshouldbesoseparated，butsoitisbetweenus。
　　Effie，too，Ihavepartedfrom，thoughIstillseeherattimes。
　　Betweenustherewasneveranyintentionofmarriagenorintimacyofsoul。Shehadasudden，fierce，hot-bloodedpassionformeandIforher，butIwasnotherfirstlovernorherlast。ShewasinanotherworldfromMarion。Shehadaqueer，delightfulnature；I’venomemoryofeverseeinghersullenormalicious。
　　Shewas——indeedshewasmagnificently——eupeptic。That，Ithink，wasthecentralsecretofheragreeableness，and，moreover，thatshewasinfinitelykind-hearted。Ihelpedheratlastintoanopeningshecoveted，andsheamazedmebyasuddendisplayofbusinesscapacity。ShehasnowatypewritingbureauinRiffle’sInn，andsherunsitwithabriskvigourandconsiderablesuccess，albeitacertainplumpnesshasovertakenher。Andshestilllovesherkind。Shemarriedayearorsoagoaboyhalfherage——awretchofapoet，awretchedpoet，andgiventodrugs，athingwithlankfairhairalwaysgettingintohisblueeyes，andlimplegs。Shedidit，shesaid，becauseheneedednursing。
　　Butenoughofthisdisasterofmymarriageandofmyearlyloveaffairs；IhavetoldallthatisneededformypicturetoexplainhowIcametotakeupaeroplaneexperimentsandengineeringscience；letmegetbacktomyessentialstory，toTono-Bungayandmyuncle’spromotionsandtothevisionoftheworldthesethingshavegivenme。