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。