§ 12
As Bealby, still grasping his great branch of yew, watched these events, a sense of human futility invaded his youthful mind. For the first time he realized the gulf between intention and result. He had meant so well....
He perceived it would be impossible to explain....
The thought of even attempting to explain things to Professor Bowles was repellent to him....
He looked about him with round despairful eyes. He selected a direction which seemed to promise the maximum of concealment with the minimum of conversational possibility, and in that direction and without needless delay he set off, eager to turn over an entirely fresh page in his destiny as soon as possible....
To get away, the idea possessed all his being.
From the crest of the downs a sweet voice floated after his retreating form and never overtook him.
“Di-ick!”