I thought of those long days on the veld when the earth was like a great yellow bowl, with white roads running to the horizon and a tiny white farm basking in the heart of it, with its blue dam and patches of bright green lucerne.

I thought of those baking days on the east coast, when the sea was like mother-of-pearl and the sky one burning turquoise.

But most of all I thought of warm scented noons on trek, when one dozed in the shadow of the wagon and sniffed the wood-smoke from the fire where the boys were cooking dinner.
From these pleasant pictures I returned to the beastly present--the thick snowy woods, the lowering sky, wet clothes, a hunted present, and a dismal future.

I felt miserably depressed, and I couldn't think of any mercies to count.

It struck me that I might be falling sick.
About midday I awoke with a start to the belief that I was being pursued.