For us, assuredly, the conflict comes....

The thing they call War.

We know it.
In a way we prepare for it.

But you know--those little people!--we do not know how to kill, at least we do not want to kill--" "Look," she interrupted, and he heard a yelping horn.
He turned at the direction of her eyes, and found a bright yellow motor car, with dark goggled driver and fur-clad passengers, whooping, throbbing, and buzzing resentfully at his heel.

He moved his foot, and the mechanism, with three angry snorts, resumed its fussy way towards the town.