"You mean you definitely abandon hope of perfecting your compound before England goes?"
"I abandon nothing," she replied. "I think it's quite possible I'll finish in time to save England, but I can't afford to do anything but look forward to the worst. And that is that we'll be driven to the sea."
I was appalled by the picture her words elicited: a few ships containing the survivors; a world covered with the Grass.
"And when success is attained we shall fight our way back inch by inch."
But this piece of bombast didnt hearten me. I had no desire to fight our way back inch by inch; I wanted at least a fragment of civilization salvaged.
September 19: F has not been the only one to think of the high seas as a final refuge. The London office has been literally besieged by men of wealth eager to pay any price to charter one of our ships. I have given orders to grant no more charters for the present.
September 20: The enthusiasm is subsiding and people are beginning to ask how long it will be before they can expect the reconquest of the Continent to begin. BBC spoke cautiously about "perfection" of the compound for the first time, opening the way to the implication that it doesnt work as yet. Added quite a bit to my manuscript.
September 21: Mrs H, in very dignified mood, approached me; said she heard I had made plans to leave England in case the Grass threatened. She asked nothing for herself, she said, being quite content to accept whatever fate Providence had in store for her, but, would I take her daughter and family along on the Sisyphus? They would be quite useful, she added lamely.
I said I would give the matter my attention, but assured her there was no immediate danger.
September 22: Grass on the Isle of Man.