Aughtlone watched the twin glimmers fade away down the long corridor and turned to his last remaining guest.
“We’re a tongue-tied breed,” he said. “We’ve been trying to voice some tremendous sentiment that’s been struggling for expression all the evening, and——”
“It’s had us beat,” said Brakespear. He made a circle in the air with the wavering candle-flame. “It’s too big. We’ve all seen so much in this bloody war, collectively.... We feel that we are the Navy and the Navy is us; yet, somehow, we don’t count much as individuals.”
“It’s because we’re finite,” said Aughtlone. He leaned against the carved balustrade that swept round and up into the darkness of the great house, and stared absently at the mailed figure standing in the shadows: the light of the candles flickered on hauberk and vizor through which the breath of some forgotten ancestor had once come and gone. “The individual passes——”
“Yes,” said Brakespear. He took a step along the thick carpet and halted. “But the Navy’s eternal.”
FINIS
Printed in Great Britain by Hasell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] “Belly-muster,” as its name gracefully implies, was a parade of lightly clad suspects in procession past the sick bay while the lynx-eyed surgeon scanned each brisket for traces of incipient chicken-pox rash.
[A] The chapter bearing this title was written before the passing of the Air Force Act. It is included in this book “without prejudice,” as the lawyers say.