Excuse me if I can't get up any love-steam any more.

My boilers are burst.
We have made a mistake, laying down love like the permanent way of a great emotional transport system.

There we are, however, running on wheels on the lines of our love.

And of course we have only two directions, forwards and backwards.

"Onward, Christian soldiers, towards the great terminus where bottles of sterilized milk for the babies are delivered at the bedroom windows by noiseless aeroplanes each morn, where the science of dentistry is so perfect that teeth are planted in a man's mouth without his knowing it, where twilight sleep is so delicious that every woman longs for her next confinement, and where nobody ever has to do anything except turn a handle now and then in a spirit of universal love--" That is the forward direction of the English-speaking race.